University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


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LADIES-IN-WAITING 

By 
KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 
CHRISTINE  TUCKE  CURTISS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

The  Riverside  Press  Cambridge 
1919 


CONTENTS 

Miss  THOMASINA  TUCKER  I 

THE  TURNING-POINT  97 

HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS  149 

Two  ON  A  TOUR  I89 

PHILIPPA'S  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION  275 


.LADIES-IN-WAITING 

MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 

MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

I 

" GOOD-BYE,  Miss  Tucker!" 

"Good  luck,  Miss  Tommy!" 

"Bye,  bye,  Tomsie!" 

"Don't  stay  away  too  long!" 

These  sentiments  were  being  called  from 
the  Hoboken  dock  to  the  deck  of  an  ocean 
steamer,  while  a  young  lady,  buried  in  bou- 
quets and  bonbons,  leaned  over  the  rail, 
sparkling,  inciting,  compelling,  responding. 

"Take  care  of  yourself,  Tommy!" 

"I  don't  see  but  that  I  must!  Nobody  else 
to  do  it!"  she  responded  saucily. 

"You  wouldn't  let  'em  if  they  tried!" 
This  from  a  rosy-cheeked  youngster  who 
was  as  close  to  the  water's  edge  as  safety  per- 
mitted. "Say,  did  you  guess  what  my  floral 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


offering  was  to  be  when  you  trimmed  your 
hat?  I  am  flattered!" 

"Sorry!  The  hat  was  trimmed  weeks  ago, 
and  I'm  wearing  your  bouquet  because  it 
matches." 

"Thanks,  awfully,"  replied  the  crestfallen 
youth.  "Plans  for  reduction  of  head-size 
constantly  on  file  in  Miss  Tucker's  office." 

"Just  Carl's  luck  to  hit  on  a  match." 

"Don't  see  any  particular  luck  in  being 
accessory  to  a  hat  trimming,"  grumbled 
Carl. 

"Write  now  and  then,  Miss  Tommy,  won't 
you?"  said  a  fellow  with  eyeglasses  and  an 
air  of  fashion. 

"Won't  promise!  I'll  wait  till  I'm  rich 
enough  to  cable!" 

"Shilling  a  word's  expensive,  but  you  can 
send  'em  to  me  collect.  My  word  is  '  Hope- 
ful,' "  —  at  which  the  little  party  laughed. 

"Register  another,  and  make  it  'Uncer- 
tain,' "  called  the  girl  roguishly,  seeing  that 
no  one  was  paying  any  attention  to  her 
friends  and  their  nonsense. 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"London  first,  is  it?"  asked  the  rosy  youth. 
"Decided  on  your  hotel?" 

"Hotel?  It's  going  to  be  my  share  of  a 
modest  Bloomsbury  lodging,"  she  answered. 
"Got  to  sing  my  way  from  a  third-floor-back 
in  a  side  street  to  a  gorgeous  suite  at  the 
Ritz!" 

"We'll  watch  you!"  cried  three  in  chorus. 

"But  we'd  rather  hear  you,  darling,"  said 
a  nice,  tailor-made  girl,  whose  puffy  eyelids 
looked  as  if  she  had  been  crying. 

"Blessed  lamb!  I  hope  I'll  be  better  worth 
hearing!  Oh,  do  go  home,  all  of  you;  espe- 
cially you,  Jessie!  My  courage  is  oozing  out 
at  the  heels  of  my  shoes.  Disappear!  I've 
been  farewelling  actively  for  an  hour  and 
casually  for  a  week.  If  they  don't  take  off 
the  gangplank  in  a  minute  or  two  I  shan't 
have  pluck  enough  to  stick  to  the  ship." 

"You  can't  expect  us  to  brace  you  up, 
Tommy,"  said  the  rosy  youth.  "We're  los- 
ing too  much  by  it.  Come  along  back!  What's 
the  matter  with  America?" 

"Don't  talk  to  her  that  way,  Carl,"  — 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


and  the  tailor-made  girl  looked  at  him  re- 
proachfully. "You  know  she's  got  nobody 
and  nothing  to  come  back  to.  She's  given 
up  her  room.  She's  quarreled  with  her  beastly 
uncle  at  last;  all  her  belongings  are  in  the  hold 
of  the  steamer,  and  she 's  made  up  her  mind." 

"All  ashore  that's  going  ashore!"  The 
clarion  tones  of  the  steward  rang  through  the 
air  for  the  third  time,  and  the  loud  beating 
of  the  ship's  gong  showed  that  the  last  mo- 
ment had  come.  The  gangplank  was  removed 
and  the  great  liner  pushed  off  and  slowly 
wended  her  way  down-river,  some  of  the 
more  faithful  ones  in  the  crowd  waving  hand- 
kerchiefs until  she  was  a  blur  in  the  distance. 

"Well,  there's  no  truer  way  of  showing 
loyalty  than  by  going  to  Hoboken  to  see  a 
friend  off,"  said  the  eyeglassed  chap  as  he 
walked  beside  Jessie  Macleod  to  the  ferry. 
"  I  would  n't  do  it  for  anybody  but  Tommy." 

"Nor  I!"  exclaimed  the  rosy  youth. 
"  Good  old  Tommy !  I  wonder  whether  she  '11 
sing  and  have  a  career,  or  fall  in  love  over 
there?" 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"She  might  do  both,  I  should  think;  at 
least  it  has  been  done,  though  not,  perhaps, 
with  conspicuous  success,"  was  Carl's  reply. 

"Whatever  she  does,  we've  lost  her," 
sighed  the  girl;  "and  our  little  set  will  be  so 
dull  without  Tommy!" 

Fergus  Appleton  had  leaned  over  the  deck 
rail  for  a  few  moments  before  the  ship  started 
on  her  voyage;  leaned  there  idly  and  indif- 
ferently, as  he  did  most  things,  smoking  his 
cigarette  with  an  air  of  complete  detach- 
ment from  the  world.  He  was  going  to  no  one, 
and  leaving  no  one  behind.  He  had  money 
enough  to  live  on,  but  life  had  always  been 
something  of  a  bore  to  him  and  he  could  not 
have  endured  it  without  regular  occupation. 
His  occasional  essays  on  subjects  connected 
with  architecture,  his  critical  articles  in  simi- 
lar fields,  his  travels  in  search  of  wider  in- 
formation, the  book  on  which  he  was  work- 
ing at  the  moment,  —  these  kept  him  busy 
and  gave  him  a  sense  of  being  tolerably  use- 
ful in  his  generation.  The  particular  group 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


of  juveniles  shouting  more  or  less  intimate 
remarks  to  a  girl  passenger  on  board  the 
steamer  attracted  his  attention  for  a  moment. 

"They  are  very  young,"  he  thought,  "or 
they  would  realize  that  they  are  all  revealing 
themselves  with  considerable  frankness,  al- 
though nobody  seems  to  be  listening  but  me ! " 

He  would  not  have  listened,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  had  it  not  been  for  the  voice  of  the 
girl  they  called  Tommy.  It  was  not  loud,  but 
it  had  the  quality  of  a  golden  bell,  and  Fer- 
gus was  susceptible  to  a  beautiful  voice.  One 
other  thing  —  the  slightest  possible  thing  — 
enlisted  his  notice.  She  wore  a  great  bunch 
of  mignonette  stuck  in  the  waistband  of  her 
green  cloth  dress,  and  her  small  hat  had  a 
flat  wreath  of  the  same  flower.  Mignonette 
was,  perhaps,  the  only  growing  thing  of 
which  Fergus  Appleton  ever  took  note,  and 
its  perfume  was  the  only  one  that  particularly 
appealed  to  his  rather  dull  sense  of  smell; 
the  reason  being  that  in  the  old  garden  of 
the  house  in  which  he  was  born  there  was 
always  a  huge  straggling  patch  of  mignon- 

8 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

ette.  His  mother  used  to  sit  there  on  sum- 
mer mornings  and  read  to  him,  and  when  he 
lay  on  his  back  in  the  sunshine  he  used  to 
watch  the  butterflies  and  humming-birds 
and  trees,  and  sniff  the  fragrance  that  filled 
the  air.  When  his  mother  died,  he  wandered 
into  the  garden,  sought  the  familiar  corner, 
and  flung  himself  on  the  bed  of  mignonette 
to  cry  his  heart  out  —  the  lonely  heart  of  an 
eight-year-old  boy.  That  was  five  and  twenty 
years  ago,  but  he  never  passed  a  florist's 
open  door  in  summer-time  without  remember- 
ing that  despairing  hour  and  the  fragrance 
of  the  flowers,  bruised  with  his  weight  and 
moist  with  his  tears. 

The  girl  vanished  the  moment  the  steamer 
was  out  of  sight  of  the  dock,  and  Fergus  did 
not  give  her  another  thought  for  a  day  or  two. 
He  had  liked  her  green  cloth  dress  and  the 
hat  that  framed  her  young,  laughing,  plucky 
face.  He  had  thought  her  name  suited  her, 
and  wondered  what  dignified  appellation 
had  been  edited,  cut,  and  metamorphosed 
to  make  "Tommy,"  deciding  after  a  look 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


at  the  passenger  list  that  it  was  Thomasina, 
and  that  the  girl  must  be  Miss  Thomasina 
Tucker,  an  alliterative  combination  which 
did  not  appeal  to  his  literary  taste. 

The  voyage  was  a  rough  one,  and  he  saw 
her  only  now  and  then,  always  alone,  and 
generally  standing  on  the  end  of  the  ship,  her 
green  cape  blowing  in  a  gale  of  wind  and 
showing  a  scarlet  lining,  her  mignonette  hat 
exchanged  for  a  soft  green  thing  with  an  up- 
standing scarlet  quill.  She  was  the  only  com- 
panionable person  on  board,  but  he  did  not 
know  her  and  sat  nowhere  near  her  at  table, 
an  assemblage  of  facts  that  seemed  to  settle 
the  matter,  considering  the  sort  of  man  he 
was  and  the  sort  of  girl  she  was. 

"She's  too  pretty  and  too  young  to  be 
gallivanting  about  'on  her  own,'"  he  said 
to  himself  one  morning,  when  Tommy  stood 
on  the  upper  deck  looking  out  to  sea  and,  as 
far  as  he  could  judge,  singing,  though  there 
was  such  a  gale  blowing  that  he  could  not 
hear  her  voice.  "But  all  the  girls  are  the  same 
nowadays,"  —  and  he  puffed  his  pipe  dis- 

10 


MISS  THQMASINA  TUCKER 

consolately;  "all  the  same;  brisk,  self-sup- 
porting, good  fellows.  If  I  ever  met  a  nice, 
unsuccessful-but-not-depressed  sort  of  girl, 
soft  but  not  silly,  mild  but  not  tame,  flexible 
but  not  docile,  spirited  but  not  domineering, 
I  think  I  should  capitulate;  but  they're  all 
dead.  The  type  has  changed,  and  I  have  n't 
changed  with  it." 

Fergus  Appleton  did  not  make  acquaint- 
ances easily;  no  man  does  who  has  had  a 
lonely,  neglected  boyhood,  his  only  com- 
panion a  father  who  seldom  remembered  his 
existence,  and,  when  he  did,  apparently  re- 
gretted it.  He  had  known  girls,  but  he  was  a 
shy,  silent,  ugly  boy,  and  appealed  as  little 
to  them  as  they  to  him.  He  did  not  live 
through  the  twenties  without  discovering 
that  a  fine  crop  of  sentiment  was  growing  in 
his  heart;  he  also  discovered  that  he  did  n't 
know  in  the  least  what  to  do  with  it.  George 
Meredith,  speaking  of  Romance,  says:  "The 
young  who  avoid  that  region  escape  the  title 
of  Fool  at  the  cost  of  a  Celestial  crown." 

II 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Fergus  Appleton  would  n't  have  minded  be- 
ing called  a  fool  if  only  he  could  have  con- 
trived to  deserve  the  title,  and  the  glimmer 
of  the  crown  celestial  had  been  in  his  imagi- 
nation more  than  once  until  he  turned  thirty 
and  decided  it  was  not  for  his  head.  Guile- 
less school-girls  did  not  appeal  to  him,  and 
elderly  sirens  certainly  had  no  power  to 
charm;  he  was  even  widow-proof,  so  he  be- 
came a  thoroughfare  for  sisterly  affection. 
Girls  suffocated  him  with  friendliness,  which 
was  not  the  stuff  of  which  his  dreams  were 
made. 

However,  he  had  nothing  to  complain  of, 
for  he  got  as  good  as  he  gave,  and  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  he  could  not  expect  to 
start  a  disastrous  conflagration  in  any  maiden 
bosom  so  long  as  he  had  no  brimstone,  nor 
any  substitute  for  it,  on  his  own  premises. 

"Anyway,"  he  reflected  (though  per- 
haps not  oftener  than  once  a  year),  "if  I 
have  n't  a  tie  in  the  world,  I  have  complete 
freedom  to  do  as  I  like!"  And  if  the  said 
freedom  palled  upon  him  occasionally,  no- 

12 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

body  was  the  wiser,  for  Fergus  Appleton  did 
not  wear  his  heart  on  his  sleeve. 

As  for  Tommy,  there  had  been  several 
Thomas  Tuckers  in  genealogical  line,  and 
the  father  of  Thomasina  was  already  Thomas 
Tucker  the  third.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tucker,  the 
parents  of  the  first  Thomas,  must  have  been 
somewhat  lacking  in  humor,  and  some- 
what ignorant  of  the  classics,  for  although 
they  could  not,  perhaps,  help  being  Tuckers, 
they  need  n't  have  saddled  their  offspring 
with  a  Christian  name  which  would  suggest 
Mother  Goose  to  every  properly  educated 
person.  However,  the  first  Thomas  grew  into 
a  great  man,  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise,  and 
his  descendants  could  hardly  do  less  than 
keep  his  name  alive.  Thomas  the  third  was 
disappointed,  not  to  say  mortified,  when  his 
only  child,  born  in  his  old  age,  turned  out  to 
be  a  girl,  but  he  bravely  did  the  best  he  could 
and  named  her  Thomasina.  Mrs.  Tucker  did 
not  like  the  name,  but  she  died  before  the 
baby  was  three  days  old.  The  baby  hated 
it  herself  when  she  reached  years  of  dis- 

13 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


cretion,  and  when  she  found  that  she  pos- 
sessed a  voice  and  had  a  possible  career  be- 
fore her,  she  saw  plainly  that  something 
more  mellifluous  must  be  substituted  if  pro- 
grammes should  ever  be  in  question.  Mean- 
time she  was  Tommy  to  her  friends,  and  the 
gay  little  name  suited  her  to  a  T.  The  gay 
little  rhyme  suited  her,  too,  for  like  the 
Tommy  Tucker  in  Mother  Goose,  she  had 
to  "  sing  for  her  supper";  for  her  breakfast, 
and  her  dinner,  and  her  tea  also,  for  that 
matter,  if  any  were  to  be  eaten. 

Her  only  relation,  a  disagreeable  bachelor 
uncle,  had  given  her  a  home  during  her 
orphaned  girlhood,  and  her  first  idea  on  grow- 
ing up  was  to  get  out  of  it.  This  she  did 
promptly  when  she  secured  a  place  in  a 
Brooklyn  choir.  The  salary  was  modest,  but 
it  provided  a  room  and  at  least  one  meal  a 
day,  not,  of  course,  a  Roman  banquet,  but 
something  to  satisfy  a  youthful  appetite.  It 
seemed  to  the  intrepid  possessor  of  a  charm- 
ing voice,  an  equally  charming  face,  and  a 
positive  gift  for  playing  accompaniments, 


MISS  THQMASINA  TUCKER 

that  the  other  two  meals,  and  a  few  clothes 
and  sundries,  might  be  forthcoming.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  they  were,  although  the  uncle 
said  that  Tommy  would  starve,  and  he  al- 
most hoped  that  she  would,  just  to  break  the 
back  of  her  obstinate  independence. 

II 

TOMMY  had  none  too  much  to  eat,  and,  ac- 
cording to  her  own  aesthetic  ambitions,  noth- 
ing at  all  to  wear;  but  she  was  busy  all 
day  long  and  absurdly  happy.  Her  income 
was  uncertain,  but  that  was  amusing  and 
thrilling  rather  than  pitiful  or  tragic.  She 
had  two  or  three  "steadies"  among  singers, 
who  gave  her  engagements  as  accompanist 
at  small  drawing-room  recitals  or  charitable 
entertainments.  There  was  a  stout  prima 
donna  whose  arias  for  dramatic  soprano  kept 
her  practicing  until  midnight,  and  a  rich  young 
lady  amateur  who  needed  a  very  friendly 
and  careful  accompaniment  because  she  sang 
flat  and  always  lost  her  breath  before  the 
end  of  a  long  phrase.  The  manner  in  which 

15 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Tommy  concealed  these  defects  was  thor- 
oughly ingenious  and  sympathetic.  When 
Miss  Guggenheim  paused  for  breath,  Tommy 
filled  the  gap  with  instrumental  arabesques; 
when  she  was  about  to  flat,  Tommy  gave  her 
the  note  suggestively.  If  she  was  too  dread- 
fully below  pitch,  and  had  breath  enough  to 
hang  on  to  the  note  so  long  that  the  audience 
(always  composed  of  invited  guests)  writhed 
obviously,  Tommy  would  sometimes  drop 
a  sheet  of  music  on  the  floor  and  create  a 
diversion,  always  apologizing  profusely  for 
her  clumsiness.  The  third  patron  was  a  young 
baritone,  who  liked  Miss  Tucker's  appear- 
ance on  the  platform  and  had  her  whenever 
he  didn't  sing  Schubert's  "Erl  Konig," 
which  Tommy  could  n't  play.  This  was  her 
most  profitable  engagement,  but  it  continued 
alas !  for  only  three  months,  for  the  baritone 
wanted  to  marry  her,  and  she  did  n't  like  him 
because  he  was  bald  and  his  neck  was  too  fat. 
Also,  she  was  afraid  she  would  have  to  learn 
to  play  the  "Erl  Konig"  properly. 

All  this  time  Tommy  was  longing  to  sing 

16 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

in  public  herself,  and  trying  to  save  money 
enough  to  take  more  lessons  by  way  of  prep- 
aration. 

When  she  lost  the  baritone,  who  was  really 
peevish  at  being  rejected  after  suiting  his 
programmes  to  her  capacities  for  a  whole 
season,  Tommy  conceived  a  new  idea.  She 
influenced  Jessie  Macleod,  who  had  a  fine 
contralto,  and  two  other  girls  with  well- 
trained  voices,  to  form  a  quartette. 

"We  can't  get  anything  to  do  separately; 
perhaps  we  can  make  a  pittance  together," 
she  said.  "We'll  do  good  simple  things;  our 
voices  blend  well,  and  if  we  practice  enough 
there's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  sing 
beautifully." 

"  Singing  beautifully  is  one  thing  and  get- 
ting engagements  is  another,"  sighed  Jessie 
Macleod. 

"As  if  I  did  n't  know  that!  We  can't  hope 
to  be  superior  to  other  quartettes,  so  we  must 
be  different  —  unusual,  unique  —  I  can't 
think  just  how  at  the  moment,  but  I  will  be- 
fore we  make  our  debut." 

17 


LADIES-IN-WATTING 


And  she  did,  for  Tommy  was  nothing  if 
not  fertile  in  ideas. 

Every  hour  that  the  girls  could  spare  in  the 
month  of  October  was  given  to  rehearsal,  till 
the  four  fresh  young  voices  were  like  one. 
They  had  decided  to  give  nothing  but  English 
songs,  to  sing  entirely  from  memory,  and  to 
make  a  specialty  of  good  words  well  spoken. 
All  the  selections  but  one  or  two  were  to  be 
without  accompaniment,  and  in  theseTommy 
would  sit  at  the  piano  surrounded  by  the 
other  three  in  a  little  group. 

Miss  Guggenheim  was  to  give  them  their 
first  appearance,  invite  fifty  or  sixty  people, 
and  serve  tea.  She  kindly  offered  to  sing  some 
solos  herself,  but  Tommy,  shuddering  in- 
wardly, said  she  thought  it  was  better  that 
the  quartette  should  test  its  own  strength 
unaided. 

Miss  Guggenheim  could  n't  sing,  but  she 
could  dress,  and  she  had  an  inspiration  a 
week  before  the  concert. 

"What  are  you  going  to  wear,  girls?"  she 
asked. 

18 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"Anything  we  have,  is  the  general  idea," 
said  Tommy.  "Mine  is  black." 

"Mine  's  blue"  —  "White"  —  "Pink!" 
came  from  the  other  three. 

"But  must  you  wear  those  particular 
dresses?  Can't  you  each  compromise  a  little 
so  as  to  look  better  together?" 

"So  hard  to  compromise  when  each  of  us 
has  one  dress  hanging  on  one  nail;  one  neck 
and  sleeves  filled  up  for  afternoons  and 
ripped  out  for  evenings!" 

"I  should  get  four  simple  dresses  just 
alike,"  said  Miss  Guggenheim,  who  had  a 
dozen. 

"What  if  they  should  hang  in  our  clos- 
ets unworn  and  unpaid  for?"  asked  Jessie 
Macleod. 

"We're  sure  to  get  at  least  one  engage- 
ment some  time  or  other.  Nothing  venture, 
nothing  have.  We  ought  to  earn  enough  to 
pay  for  the  dresses,  if  we  do  nothing  more," 
—  and  Tommy's  vote  settled  it. 

Miss  Guggenheim  knew  people,  if  she  did 
sing  flat,  and  her  drawing-room  was  full  on 

19 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


the  occasion  of  the  debut.  Carl  Bothwick,  a 
friend  of  Tommy's,  was  in  a  publishing  office, 
and  nobly  presented  programmes  for  the 
occasion.  The  quartette  had  not  thought 
of  naming  itself,  but  Carl  had  grouped  the 
songs  under  the  heading,  "The  Singing 
Girls,"  and  luckily  they  liked  the  idea. 

At  four  o'clock  the  hum  of  conversation 
ceased  at  the  sound  of  singing  voices  in  the 
distance.  A  sort  of  processional  effect  had 
been  Tommy's  suggestion,  and  the  quartette 
formed  in  the  dressing-room  and  sang  its 
way  to  the  audience. 

"Hark,  hark,  the  lark  at  Heaven's  gate  sings, 
And  Phoebus  'gins  to  rise." 

The  voices  rang  high  and  clear,  coming 
nearer  and  nearer.  All  the  words  could  be 
heard  and  understood.  The  hall  portieres  di- 
vided, and  the  girls  entered,  all  in  soft  gray 
crepe,  gardenias  at  the  belt,  little  brimmed 
hats  of  black  velvet  with  a  single  gardenia  on 
the  side,  the  flowers  being  the  offering  of  the 
dramatic  soprano,  who  loved  Tommy.  They 

20 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

were  young,  they  were  pretty,  they  sang  de- 
lightfully in  tune,  and  with  quite  bewitching 
effect.  Several  ladies  fell  in  love  with  them  at 
first  sight,  and  hoped  that  they  would  sing 
for  nothing  a  few  times,  "just  to  get  them- 
selves known."  They  had  done  nothing  else 
for  two  years,  so  that  Tommy  said  they  must 
be  acquainted  with  the  entire  State  of  New 
York,  though  nothing  ever  came  of  it.  It  was 
a  joyous  surprise,  then,  when  an  old  gentle- 
man in  the  company  (who  was  seen  to  wipe 
tears  away  when  the  girls  sang  "  Darby  and 
Joan")  engaged  them  to  sing  at  his  golden 
wedding  the  next  night.  That  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  season  of  modest  prosperity.  Tom- 
my's baritone  had  married  his  new  accompa- 
nist (he  seemed  determined  to  have  a  piano- 
playing  wife),  and  wishing  to  show  Miss 
Tucker  that  his  heart  was  not  broken  by  her 
rejection,  he  gave  a  handsome  party  and  en- 
gaged the  quartette,  paying  for  their  services 
in  real  coin  of  the  realm.  Other  appearances 
followed  in  and  out  of  town,  and  Tommy 
paid  for  her  gray  dress,  spent  a  goodly  sum 

21 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


for  an  attack  of  tonsillitis,  the  result  of  over- 
work, and  still  saved  two  hundred  dollars. 
The  season  was  over.  She  was  fagged,  but 
not  disheartened.  Who  is  at  twenty- two? 
But  it  was  late  April,  and  drawing-room  en- 
tertainments were  no  more.  The  two  hun- 
dred dollars  when  augmented  by  the  church 
salary  would  barely  take  her  through  till 
October. 

"It  is  very  annoying,"  thought  Tommy, 
"when  you  have  to  eat,  drink,  sleep,  and 
dress  twelve  months  in  the  year,  that  the 
income  by  which  you  do  these  things  should 
cease  abruptly  for  four  months.  Still,  furriers 
can't  sell  furs  in  hot  weather,  and  summer 
boarders  can't  board  in  winter,  so  I  suppose 
other  people  have  to  make  enough  money  in 
eight  months  to  spend  in  twelve." 

:  '  Hark,  hark,  the  lark  at  Heaven's  gate  sings, 
And  Phoebus  'gins  to  rise! '  ' 

she  caroled,  splashing  about  in  her  morning 
tub  as  she  finished  making  these  reflections, 
the  tub  being  an  excellent  place  for  trills  and 
scales. 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

Proceeding  from  tub  to  her  sitting-room  to 
make  things  ready  for  toilet  and  breakfast, 
her  mind  ran  on  her  little  problems. 

"I  want  to  learn  more,  see  more,  hear 
more,"  she  thought.  "I  have  one  of  those 
nasty,  unserviceable,  betwixt-and-between 
talents:  voice  not  high  enough  for  'Robert, 
toi  que  j'aime,'  nor  low  enough  for  'Stand- 
chen';  not  flexible  enough  for  '  Caro  Nome,' 
nor  big  enough  for  'Ocean,  Thou  Mighty 
Monster';  poor  French  accent,  worse  Ger- 
man; awfully  good  English,  but  that  does 
n't  count.  Can  sing  old  ballads,  folk-songs, 
and  nice,  forgotten  things  that  make  dear 
old  gentlemen  and  ladies  cry  —  but  not  pay. 
If  I  were  billed  at  all,  it  ought  to  be 

"FIRST  APPEARANCE  IN  PUBLIC 

OF 
BEHIND-THE-TIMES  TOMMY" 

This  appellation  so  tickled  her  fancy  that 
she  nearly  upset  the  coffee-pot,  and  she  con- 
tinued to  laugh  at  her  own  wit  until  a  fat 
letter  was  pushed  under  her  door  from  the 

23 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


hall  outside.  She  picked  it  up.     It  had  an 
English  postmark. 

"Helena  Markham!"  she  cried,  joyously. 

DEAR  TOMMY:  [the  letter  read] 

Don't  you  want  to  come  over  to  London  for  the 
season  ?  You  never  make  any  money  at  home  from 
June  to  October,  and  if  by  chance  you  have  a 
penny  in  the  bank  (I  don't  know  why  I  say  "if" 
when  none  of  us  ever  had  such  a  thing!)  I  think 
I  can  put  enough  in  your  way  to  pay  part  of  your 
expenses.  I  am  really  beginning  to  get  on!  — 
three  engagements  in  the  provincial  towns  all  ar- 
ranged. My  accompanist  plays  lots  better  than 
you  do,  but  I  don't  sing  half  so  well  with  him 
as  I  used  to  with  you.  You  somehow  infuse  the 
spirit  into  me  that  I  lack.  I  incline  to  be  lumpy 
and  heavy.  They  may  not  notice  it  in  the 
provinces,  for  I  dare  say  they  are  lumpy  and 
heavy  there,  too.  However,  though  I  shall  have 
to  have  somebody  well  known  over  here  for  con- 
certs of  any  great  pretensions,  I  could  work  you 
into  smaller  ones,  and  coach  with  you,  too,  since 
I  must  have  somebody.  And  you  are  so  good- 
looking,  Tommy  dear,  and  have  such  a  winning 
profile!  I  am  plainer  than  ever,  but  no  plainer 
than  Madame  Titiens,  so  the  papers  say.  I  never 

24 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

saw  or  heard  her,  of  course,  but  the  critics  say 
I  have  the  same  large,  "massive"  style  of  voice 
and  person.  My  present  accompanist  would  take 
first  prize  for  ugliness  in  any  competition;  he  is 
more  like  a  syndicate  of  plainness  than  one  single 
exemplification  of  it!  I  must  have  a  noble  nature 
to  think  more  of  my  audiences  than  of  myself, 
but  I  should  like  to  give  them  something  to  please 
their  eyes  —  I  flatter  myself  I  can  take  care  of 
their  ears! 

Oh,  do  come,  Tommy!  Say  you  will! 

HELENA. 

Tommy  pirouetted  about  the  room  like 
an  intoxicated  bird,  waving  the  letter,  and 
trilling  and  running  joyful  chromatic  scales, 
for  the  most  part  badly  done. 

"Will  I  go  to  London ?"  she  warbled  in  a 
sort  of  improvised  recitative.  "Will  I  take 
two  or  two  and  a  half  lessons  of  Georg  Hen- 
schel?  Will  I  grace  platforms  in  the  English 
provinces  ?  Will  I  take  my  two  hundred  dol- 
lars out  of  the  bank  and  risk  it  royally?  Per- 
haps the  bystanders  will  glance  in  at  my 
windows  and  observe  me  giving  the  land- 
lady notice,  and  packing  my  trunk,  both  of 

25 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


which  delightful  tasks  I  shall  be  engaged  in 
before  the  hour  strikes." 

ni 

FERGUS  APPLETON  thought  he  saw  "the  sing- 
ing girl"  of  his  voyage  from  New  York  one 
May  day  in  Wells,  where  he  went  to  study 
the  cathedral.  He  noticed  a  hansom  with  a 
pink-clad  figure  in  the  opening,  looking  like 
a  rosebud  of  a  new  and  odd  sort  on  wheels. 
At  least,  it  looked  like  a  rosebud  at  the  mo- 
ment the  doors  rolled  back  like  the  leaves  of 
a  calyx,  and  the  flower  issued,  triumphant 
and  beautiful.  She  was  greeted  by  a  tall, 
stout  young  lady,  who  climbed  into  the  han- 
som, and  the  two  settled  themselves  quickly 
and  drove  off. 

Appleton's  hansom  followed  on  its  own 
course,  which  chanced  to  be  in  the  same  di- 
rection, and  he  saw  the  slim  and  the  stout 
disappear  up  a  hilly  street,  at  the  top  of 
which  was  a  famous  old  house.  He  walked 
that  way  in  the  afternoon,  having  nothing 
better  to  do,  but  could  observe  no  dwelling 

26 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

at  which  the  two  ladies  might  be  staying. 
There  was  a  pretty  cottage  with  a  long, 
graveled  pathway  leading  to  it,  and  a  little 
sign  on  the  locked  gate  reading:  "Spring 
Cleaning.  Please  do  not  knock  or  ring." 
Farther  along  was  a  more  pretentious  house, 
so  attractive  that  he  was  sorry  he  had  never 
noticed  it  before,  for  the  sign  "Apartments 
to  Let"  was  in  one  of  the  front  windows.  He 
heard  a  piano  in  the  rear  somewhere,  but  on 
reaching  the  front  door  another  sign  con- 
fronted him:  "The  parlor  maid  is  slightly 
deaf.  If  doorbell  is  not  answered  at  once, 
please  step  inside  and  ring  the  dinner  bell 
on  the  hall  table." 

This  somehow  required  more  courage  than 
Appleton  possessed,  though  he  determined 
to  look  at  the  rooms  on  his  next  visit,  so  he 
stole  down  the  path  and  went  about  his  busi- 
ness, wondering  why  in  the  world  he  had 
done  such  a  besotted  thing  as  to  take  a  walk 
among  the  furnished  lodgings  of  the  cathe- 
dral town  of  Wells. 

The  summer  waxed.  He  had  nearly  fin- 

27 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


ished  his  book,  and  feeling  the  need  of  some 
peaceful  retreat  where  he  could  do  the  last 
chapters  and  work  up  his  sketches,  he  took 
the  advice  of  an  English  friend  and  went 
down  to  Devonshire,  intending  to  go  from 
place  to  place  until  he  found  a  hotel  and 
surroundings  to  his  mind. 

The  very  first  one  pleased  his  exacting 
taste,  and  he  felt  that  the  Bexley  Sands  Inn 
would  be  the  very  spot  in  which  to  write; 
comfortable  within,  a  trifle  too  large,  per- 
haps, and  at  week-ends  too  full  of  people, 
but  clean,  well-kept,  and  sunny. 

It  was  a  Friday  evening,  and  the  number 
of  guests  who  arrived  on  the  last  train  from 
Torquay  was  rather  disturbing.  The  dining- 
room  service  was  not  interfered  with,  but 
Appleton  made  up  his  mind  to  smoke  his 
pipe  in  his  own  sitting-room  and  go  down  to 
the  lounge  later  to  read  the  papers,  when  the 
crowd  might  have  dispersed.  At  nine  o'clock, 
accordingly,  he  descended,  and  was  prepar- 
ing to  settle  himself  with  the  last "  Spectator" 
when  the  young  lady  in  the  office  observed: 

28 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"There's  a  very  good  concert  going  on  in 
the  drawing-room,  sir,  if  you  enjoy  music. 
No  admittance,  you  know;  just  a  plate  at 
the  door  as  you  leave  —  quite  optional." 

Appleton  bowed  his  thanks,  filled  his  pipe, 
and  taking  up  his  newspaper  with  a  sensation 
of  comfortable  idleness,  was  beginning  an 
article  on  the  situation  in  the  Balkans,  when 
a  voice  floated  out  from  the  distant  drawing- 
room,  down  the  long  corridor,  through  the 
writing-room  into  the  lounge.  It  was  not  a 
little  voice  nor  a  big  voice,  it  seemed  to  have 
no  extraordinarily  high  notes  and  no  low  ones, 
it  did  not  arrest  attention  by  the  agility  of  its 
use;  but  it  was  as  fresh  and  young  as  a  bird's 
and  sweeter  than  honey  in  the  comb.  It  be- 
gan by  caroling  "My  Love's  an  Arbutus," 
went  on  to  "The  Little  Red  Lark"  and 
"The  Low-Backed  Car,"  so  that  Appleton, 
his  head  thrown  back  in  the  easy-chair,  the 
smoke  wreaths  from  his  pipe  circling  in  the 
air,  the  Balkans  forgotten,  decided  that  the 
singer  was  Irish. 

"A  pretty  voice,  sir,"  remarked  the  god- 

29 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


dess  of  the  hotel  office.  "I'm  sorry  so  many 
of  our  guests  are  playing  bowls  this  evening, 
and  there's  a  bridge  party  of  three  tables 
in  our  first-floor  private  sitting-room,  or  the 
young  lady  would  have  had  an  audience. 
She  seems  a  nice  little  thing,  quite  a  stranger, 
with  no  experience." 

If  the  singer  had  even  a  small  group  of 
hearers,  they  were  apparently  delighted  with 
"The  Low-Backed  Car,"  for  with  only  a 
second's  pause  she  gave  "The  Minstrel  Boy." 
A  certain  individual  quality  of  tone  and 
spirit  managed  to  bridge  the  distance  be- 
tween the  drawing-room  and  lounge;  or  per- 
haps it  was  the  piano  accompaniment,  so 
beautifully  played  that  one  could  almost 
imagine  it  a  harp;  or  was  it  that  the  words 
were  so  familiar  to  Appleton  that  every 
syllable  was  understood,  so  that  the  passion 
and  fire  of  the  old  song  suffered  no  loss? 

"  The  minstrel  fell,  but  the  foeman's  chain 
Could  not  bring  that  proud  soul  under! 
The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again, 
For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder." 

30 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"It's  a  pity  her  programme  is  so  old- 
fashioned,"  said  the  young  lady  of  the  office, 
passing  his  chair  to  give  an  order  to  the  page. 
"It's  true  only  the  elderly  people  went  in, 
but  our  week-enders  are  very  up-to-date 
in  everything.  There's  a  lot  of  Londoners 
here,  and  those  from  Torquay  are  frightfully 
musical.  If  they  don't  get  Debewssy,  it 
seems  they  think  nothing  of  the  programme." 

"Well,  I  confess  that  Debussy  seems  a 
trifle  alien  to  this  time  and  place,"  said  Ap- 
pleton,  "and  these  old  ballads  suit  my  taste 
much  better.  I  think  I  '11  take  a  nearer  view." 

He  shoved  his  pipe  into  its  case  and 
strolled  down  the  corridor,  pausing  behind 
the  heavy  velvet  portieres  that  shut  off  the 
drawing-room.  There  was  no  buzz  of  con- 
versation going  on,  because  there  was  not 
a  sufficient  number  of  persons  to  buzz.  A 
very  quiet,  stodgy  audience  it  was,  with  no 
friendly  grouping;  just  a  few  old  gentlemen 
here  and  a  few  old  ladies  there,  sometimes 
with  their  prematurely  aged  and  chastened 
paid  companions  by  their  sides.  There  were 

31 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


some  girls  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  too,  scattered 
about,  a  few  of  them  accompanied  by  prim 
governesses. 

Appleton  heard  the  entrance  of  some  one 
from  the  anteroom  beyond  the  grand  piano, 
then  a  few  chords,  struck  by  hands  that  loved 
the  ivory  keys  and  evoked  a  reciprocal  ten- 
derness every  time  they  touched  them;  then: 

"Near  Woodstock  Town  in  Oxfordshire 
As  I  walked  forth  to  take  the  air, 
To  view  the  fields  and  meadows  round, 
Methought  I  heard  a  mournful  sound.'* 

So  the  chronicle  ran  on  until  the  crisis  came: 

"The  lady  round  the  meadow  ran, 
And  gathered  flowers  as  they  sprang. 
Of  every  sort  she  there  did  pull 
Until  she  got  her  apron  full." 

The  history  of  the  distracted  lady's  unhappy 
passion  persevered: 

"The  green  ground  served  her  as  a  bed, 
The  flowers  a  pillow  for  her  head. 
She  laid  her  down  and  nothing  spoke. 
Alas!  for  love  her  heart  was  broke." 

Appleton  was  at  first  too  enchanted  with 
the  mischievous  yet  sympathetic  rendition  of 

32 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

this  tragedy  to  do  anything  but  listen.  The 
voice,  the  speech,  were  so  full  of  color  and  per- 
sonality he  forgot  for  the  moment  that  there 
would  be  a  face  behind  them;  but  there  was 
an  irresistible  something  in  the  line,  "Until 
she  got  her  apron  full,"  that  forced  him  to 
peep  behind  the  curtain  just  in  time  to  catch 
the  singer's  smile. 

As  this  is  not  a  story  of  plot,  suspense,  or 
mystery,  there  is  no  earthly  use  in  denying 
that  the  lady  in  question  was  Miss  Thomas- 
ina  Tucker,  nor  any  sense  in  affirming  that 
her  appearance  in  Fergus  Appleton's  hotel 
was  in  the  nature  of  a  dramatic  coincidence, 
since  Americans  crossing  the  Atlantic  on  the 
same  steamer  are  continually  meeting  in  the 
British  Isles  and  on  the  Continent. 

Appleton  was  pleased  to  see  the  girl  again 
because  he  had  always  liked  her  face,  and  he 
was  delighted  to  find  that  her  voice  not  only 
harmonized  with  it,  but  increased  its  charm  a 
hundredfold.  Miss  Tommy  had  several  rather 
uncommon  qualities  in  her  equipment.  One 
was  that  when  she  sang  a  high  note  she  did  it 

33 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


without  exposing  any  of  the  avenues  which 
led  to  her  singing  apparatus.  She  achieved  her 
effects  without  pain  to  herself  or  to  the  ob- 
server, just  flinging  them  off  as  gayly  and 
irresponsibly  as  a  bird  on  a  bough,  without 
showing  any  modus  operandi.  She  had  tender- 
ness also,  and  fire,  and  a  sense  of  humor  which, 
while  she  never  essayed  a  "comic"  song, 
served  her  in  good  stead  in  certain  old  bal- 
lads with  an  irresistibly  quaint  twist  in  them. 
She  made  it  perfectly  clear  that  she  was 
sorry  for  the  poor  lady  who  was  running 
around  the  meadow  preparing  her  flowery 
bier,  but  the  conviction  crept  over  you  that 
she  was  secretly  amused  at  the  same  time. 
Appleton  heard  the  smile  in  her  voice  before 
he  pulled  aside  the  curtain  and  saw  its  coun- 
terpart on  her  face;  heard  and  responded,  for 
when  Tommy  tossed  a  smile  at  you,  you 
caught  it  gratefully  and  tossed  it  back  in  the 
hope  of  getting  a  second  and  a  third. 

Another  arrow  in  Tommy's  modest  quiver 
was  the  establishment  of  an  instantaneous 
intimacy  between  herself  and  her  audience. 

34 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

The  singing  of  her  songs  was  precisely  like 
the  narration  of  so  many  stories,  told  so  sim- 
ply and  directly  that  the  most  hardened  critic 
would  have  his  sting  removed  without  being 
aware  of  it.  He  would  know  that  Tommy 
had  n't  a  remarkable  voice,  but  he  would  for- 
get to  mention  it  because  space  was  limited. 
Sometimes  he  would  say  that  she  was  an  in- 
terpreter rather  than  a  singer,  and  Tommy, 
for  her  part,  was  glad  to  be  called  anything, 
and  grateful  when  she  was  n't  brutally  ar- 
raigned for  the  microscopic  size  of  her  talent. 
It  was  Tommy's  captivating  friendliness 
and  the  quality  of  her  smile  that  "did  "for 
the  shyest  and  stiffest  of  men,  for  by  the  time 
she  had  finished  her  programme  the  thunder- 
bolt, the  classic,  the  eternal  thunderbolt,  had 
fallen,  and  Fergus  Appleton  was  in  love. 
Tommy  began  her  unconscious  depredations 
with  "Near  Woodstock  Town"  and  "Phillida 
Flouts  Me,"  added  fuel  to  the  flames  with 
"My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands"  and  "Char- 
lie Is  My  Darling,"  and  reduced  his  heart  to 
ashes  with  "Allan  Water"  and  "Has  Sor- 

35 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


row  Thy  Young  Days  Shaded?"  The  smile 
began  it,  but  it  was  tears  that  worked  the 
final  miracle,  though  moisture  very  rarely 
has  this  effect  on  fires  of  any  sort. 

Tommy  was  tired  and  a  bit  disheartened; 
Appleton,  the  only  responsive  person  in  the 
audience,  was  seated  in  a  far  corner  of  the 
room,  completely  hidden  behind  a  lady  of 
formidable  width  and  thickness,  so  the  singer 
could  not  be  expected  to  feel  the  tidal  waves 
of  appreciation  he  was  sending  toward  her,  al- 
though they  ran  so  high  at  one  moment  that 
he  could  have  risen  to  his  feet  and  begged  her 
to  elope  with  him.  The  rest  of  her  hearers  sat 
heavily,  stodgily  in  their  seats  without  mov- 
ing a  muscle,  mental,  emotional,  or  physical. 
They  had  no  private  sitting-rooms,  and  they 
might  as  well  be  where  they  were  as  any- 
where else;  that  was  the  idea  they  conveyed 
in  every  feature  of  their  expressionless  faces. 
An  old  gentleman  in  the  front  row  left  the 
room  during  the  last  song  on  the  programme, 
and  Appleton  was  beset  by,  and  resisted,  a 
vulgar  temptation  to  put  out  his  foot  and 

36 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

trip  him  up  in  the  doorway.  When  Tommy 
sang: 

"  Has  hope,  like  the  bird  in  the  story, 
That  flitted  from  tree  to  tree 
With  the  talisman's  glitt'ring  glory, 
Has  hope  been  that  bird  to  thee? 
On  branch  after  branch  alighting, 
The  gem  did  she  still  display, 
And  when  nearest  and  most  inviting, 
Then  waft  the  fair  gem  away." 

"  Yes,  yes,  a  thousand  times  yes,"  answered 
Fergus  Appleton's  heart,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  conscious  of  loneliness,  lack  of  pur- 
pose, lack  of  anchorage,  lack  of  responsibili- 
ties, lack  of  everything  he  had  never  wanted 
before,  but  wanted  desperately  all  at  once, 
and  quite  independent  of  logic. 

He  slipped  out  of  the  door  and  let  the  scat- 
tered units  in  the  audience  assemble,  pass 
him,  and  drift  down  the  corridor  toward  the 
office  and  lounge.  To  his  astonishment  and 
anger  they  dropped  shillings  on  the  plate, 
and  the  young  people  sixpences  and,  great 
Heavens !  even  pennies ;  one  half-crown,  the 
tacit  apology  of  the  old  gentleman  who  had 

37 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


left  early,  was  the  only  respectable  offering. 
Appleton  took  out  a  sovereign,  and  then  was 
afraid  to  put  it  in  the  collection  for  fear  of 
exciting  the  singer's  curiosity,  so  he  rummaged 
his  pockets  for  half-crowns  and  two-shilling 
pieces.  Finding  only  two  or  three,  he  changed 
his  mind  and  put  back  the  gold-piece  just  in 
time  to  avoid  the  eye  of  the  page,  who  came 
to  take  the  offering  back  to  Miss  Tucker. 
Appleton  twisted  his  mustache  nervously, 
and  walked  slowly  toward  the  anteroom  with 
no  definite  idea  in  mind,  save  perhaps  that 
she  might  issue  from  her  retreat  and  recog- 
nize him  as  she  passed.  (As  a  matter  of  fact  she 
had  never  once  noticed  him  on  the  steamer, 
but  the  poor  wretch  was  unconscious  of  that 
misfortune!)  The  page  came  out,  putting 
something  in  his  pocket,  and  left  the  door 
half  open  behind  him.  Appleton  wheeled 
swiftly,  feeling  like  a  spy,  but  not  until  he 
had  seen  Miss  Thomasina  Tucker  take  a  large 
copper  coin  from  the  plate,  fling  it  across  the 
room,  bury  the  plate  of  silver  upside  down  in  a 
sofa  cushion,  and  precipitate  herself  upon  it 

38 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

with  a  little  quivering  wail  of  shame,  or  dis- 
appointment, or  rage,  he  could  hardly  deter- 
mine which. 

Appleton  followed  the  unfeeling,  unmusi- 
cal, penurious  old  ladies  and  gentlemen  back 
into  the  lounge,  glaring  at  them  as  belliger- 
ently and  offensively  as  a  gentleman  could 
and  maintain  his  self-respect.  Then  he  went 
into  the  waiting-room  and  embarked  upon  a 
positive  orgy  of  letter-writing.  Looking  up 
from  the  last  of  his  pile  a  half-hour  later,  he 
observed  the  young  lady  who  was  uncon- 
sciously preventing  a  proper  flow  of  epistolary 
inspiration  on  his  part,  seated  at  a  desk  in  the 
opposite  corner.  A  pen  was  in  her  right  hand, 
and  in  her  left  she  held  a  tiny  embroidered 
handkerchief,  rather  creased.  Sometimes  she 
bit  the  corner  of  it,  sometimes  she  leaned  her 
cheek  upon  it,  sometimes  she  tapped  the  blot- 
ting-pad with  the  pen-handle,  very  much  as 
if  she  had  no  particular  interest  in  what  she 
was  doing,  or  else  she  was  very  doubtful 
about  the  wisdom  of  it. 

Presently  she  took  some  pennies  from  a 

39 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


small  purse,  and  rising,  took  her  letters  with 
her  with  the  evident  intention  of  posting 
them.  Appleton  rose  too,  lifting  his  pile  of 
correspondence,  and  followed  close  at  her 
heels.  She  went  to  the  office,  laid  down  three- 
pence, with  her  letters,  turned,  saw  Fergus 
Appleton  with  the  physical  eye,  but  looked 
directly  through  him  as  if  he  were  a  man  of 
glass  and  poor  quality  of  glass  at  that,  and 
sauntered  upstairs  as  if  she  were  greatly 
bored  with  life. 

However,  the  top  letter  of  her  three  was 
addressed  very  plainly  to  the  "Bishop  of 
Bath  and  Wells,"  and  Fergus  Appleton  had 
known  the  bishop,  and  the  bishop's  wife, 
for  several  years.  Accordingly,  the  post-bag 
that  night  held  two  letters  addressed  to  the 
Bishop's  Palace,  and  there  was  every  pros- 
pect of  an  immediate  answer  to  one  of  them. 

IV 

As  for  the  country  roundabout  the  Bexley 
Sands  Inn,  it  is  one  of  the  loveliest  in  Devon- 
shire. It  does  not  waste  a  moment,  but,  realiz- 

40 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

ing  the  brevity  of  week-end  visits  and  the 
anxiety  of  tourists  to  see  the  greatest  amount 
of  scenery  in  the  shortest  space,  it  begins  its 
duty  at  the  very  door  of  the  inn  and  goes 
straight  on  from  one  stretch  of  loveliness  to 
another. 

If  you  have  been  there,  you  remember  that 
if  you  turn  to  the  right  and  go  over  the  stone 
bridge  that  crosses  the  sleepy  river,  you  are 
in  the  very  heart  of  beauty.  You  pick  your 
way  daintily  along  the  edge  of  the  road,  for  it 
is  carpeted  so  thickly  with  sea-pinks  and  yel- 
low and  crimson  crow's-foot  that  you  scarcely 
know  where  to  step.  Sea-poppies  there  are, 
too,  groves  of  them,  growing  in  the  sandy 
stretches  that  lie  close  to  and  border  the  wide, 
shingly  beach.  In  summer  the  long,  low,  nar- 
row stone  bridge  crosses  no  water,  but  just 
here  is  an  acre  or  two  of  tall  green  rushes. 
You  walk  down  the  bank  a  few  steps  and  sit 
under  the  shadow  of  a  wall.  The  green  garden 
of  rushes  stretches  in  front  of  you,  with  a  still, 
shallow  pool  between  you  and  it,  a  pool  float- 
ing with  blossoming  water-weeds.  On  the 

41 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


edge  of  the  rushes  grow  tall  yellow  irises  in 
great  profusion;  the  cuckoo's  note  sounds  in 
the  distance;  the  sun,  the  warmth,  the  intoxi- 
cation of  color,  make  you  drowsy,  and  you  lean 
back  among  the  green  things,  close  your  eyes, 
and  then  begin  listening  to  the  wonderful 
music  of  the  rushes.  A  million  million  reeds 
stirred  by  the  breeze  bend  to  and  fro,  mak- 
ing a  faint  silken  sound  like  that  of  a  sum- 
mer wave  lapping  the  shore,  but  far  more 
ethereal. 

Thomasina  Tucker  went  down  the  road, 
laden  with  books,  soon  after  breakfast  Mon- 
day morning.  Appleton  waited  until  after  the 
post  came  in,  and  having  received  much-de- 
sired letters  and  observed  with  joy  the  week- 
enders setting  forth,  hither  and  thither  on 
their  return  journeys,  followed  what  he  sup- 
posed to  be  Miss  Tucker's  route;  at  least,  it 
was  her  route  on  Saturday  and  Sunday,  and 
he  could  not  suppose  her  to  harbor  caprice 
or  any  other  feminine  weakness. 

Yes,  there  she  was,  in  the  very  loveliest 
nook,  the  stone  wall  at  her  back,  and  in  front 

42 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

nice  sandy  levels  for  books  and  papers  and 
writing-pad. 

"Miss  Tucker,  may  I  invade  your  solitude 
for  a  moment?  Our  mutual  friend,  the  Bishop 
of  Bath  and  Wells,  has  written  asking  me  to 
look  you  up  as  a  fellow  countryman  and  see 
if  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you  so  far  away 
from  home." 

Tommy  looked  up,  observed  a  good-look- 
ing American  holding  a  letter  in  one  hand  and 
lifting  a  hat  with  the  other,  and  bade  him 
welcome. 

"How  kind  of  the  bishop!  But  he  is  always 
doing  kind  things;  his  wife,  too.  I  have  seen 
much  of  them  since  I  came  to  England." 

"My  name  is  Appleton,  Fergus  Appleton, 
at  your  service." 

"Won't  you  take  a  stone,  or  make  yourself 
a  hollow  in  the  sand?"  asked  Tommy  hospi- 
tably. "I  came  out  here  to  read  and  study, 
and  get  rid  of  the  week-enders.  Is  n't  Bexley 
Sands  a  lovely  spot,  and  do  you  ever  get  tired 
of  the  bacon  and  the  kippered  herring,  and 
the  fruit  tarts  with  Devonshire  cream?" 

43 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"I  can't  bear  to  begin  an  acquaintance 
with  a  lady  by  differing  on  such  vital  points, 
but  I  do  get  tired  of  these  Bexley  delicacies." 

"Perhaps  you  have  been  here  too  long  — 
or  have  you  just  come  this  morning?" 

Appleton  swallowed  his  disappointment 
and  hurt  vanity,  and  remarked:  "No,  I  came 
on  Friday."  (He  laid  some  emphasis  on  Fri- 
day.) 

"The  evening  train  is  so  incorrigibly  slow! 
I  only  reached  the  hotel  at  ten  o'clock  when 
I  arrived  on  Thursday  night."  Miss  Tucker 
shot  a  rapid  glance  at  the  young  man  as  she 
made  this  remark. 

"I  came  by  the  morning  express  and  ar- 
rived here  at  three  on  Friday,"  said  Appleton. 

Miss  Tucker,  with  a  slight  display  of  per- 
haps legitimate  temper,  turned  suddenly 
upon  him.  "There!  I  have  been  trying  for 
two  minutes  to  find  out  when  you  came,  and 
now  I  know  you  were  at  my  beastly  concert 
on  Friday  evening!" 

"I  certainly  was,  and  very  grateful  I  am, 
too." 

44 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"  I  suppose  all  through  my  life  people  will 
be  turning  up  who  were  in  that  room!"  said 
Miss  Tucker  ungraciously.  "I  must  tell  some- 
body what  I  feel  about  that  concert!  I  should 
prefer  some  one  who  was  n't  a  stranger,  but 
you  are  a  great  deal  better  than  nobody.  Do 
you  mind?" 

Appleton  laughed  like  a  boy,  and  flung 
his  hat  a  little  distance  into  a  patch  of  sea- 
pinks. 

"Not  a  bit.  Use  me,  or  abuse  me,  as  you 
like,  so  long  as  you  don't  send  me  away,  for 
this  was  my  favorite  spot  before  you  chose 
it  for  yours." 

"I  live  in  New  York,  and  I  came  abroad 
early  in  the  summer,"  began  Tommy. 

"I  know  that  already !"  interrupted  Apple- 
ton. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  the  bishop  told  you." 

"No,  I  came  with  you;  that  is,  I  was  your 
fellow  passenger." 

"Did  you?  Why,  I  never  saw  you  on  the 
boat." 

"My  charms  are  not  so  dazzling  that  I 

45 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


expect  them  to  be  noted  and  remembered," 
laughed  Appleton. 

"It  is  true  I  was  very  tired,  and  excited, 
and  full  of  anxieties,"  said  Tommy  meekly. 

"Don't  apologize!  If  you  tried  for  an  hour, 
you  could  n't  guess  just  why  I  noticed  and 
remembered  you!" 

"  I  conclude  then  it  was  not  for  my  dazzling 
charms,"  Tommy  answered  saucily. 

"It  was  because  you  wore  the  only  flower 
I  ever  notice,  one  that  is  associated  with  my 
earliest  childhood.  I  never  knew  a  woman 
to  wear  a  bunch  of  mignonette  before." 

"  Some  one  sent  it  to  me,  I  remember,  and 
it  had  some  hideous  scarlet  pinks  in  the  mid- 
dle. I  put  the  pinks  in  my  room  and  pinned 
on  the  mignonette  because  it  matched  my 
dress.  I  am  very  fond  of  green." 

"My  mother  loved  mignonette.  We  al- 
ways had  beds  of  it  in  our  garden  and  pots  of 
it  growing  in  the  house  in  winter.  I  can  smell 
it  whenever  I  close  my  eyes." 

Tommy  glanced  at  him.  She  felt  something 
in  his  voice  that  she  liked,  something  that 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

attracted  her  and  wakened  an  instantaneous 
response. 

"But  go  on,"  he  said.  "I  only  know  as  yet 
that  you  sailed  from  New  York  in  the  early 
summer,  as  I  did." 

"Well,  I  went  to  London  to  join  a  great 
friend,  a  singer,  Helena  Markham.  Have  you 
heard  of  her?" 

"No;  is  she  an  American?" 

"Yes,  a  Western  girl,  from  Montana,  with 
oh!  such  a  magnificent  voice  and  such  a  big 
talent!"  (The  outward  sweep  of  Tommy's 
hands  took  in  the  universe.)  "We've  had 
some  heavenly  weeks  together.  I  play  ac- 
companiments, and  — " 

"I  know  you  do!" 

"I  forgot  for  the  moment  how  much  too 
much  you  know!  I  went  with  her  to  Birming- 
ham, and  Manchester,  and  Leeds,  and  Liver- 
pool. I  was  n't  really  grand  enough  for  her, 
but  the  audiences  did  n't  notice  me,  Helena 
was  so  superb.  In  between  I  took  some  les- 
sons of  Henschel.  He  told  me  I  had  n't  much 
voice,  but  very  nice  brains.  I  am  always  called 

47 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


'intelligent,'  and  no  one  can  imagine  how 
I  hate  the  word!" 

"It  is  offensive,  but  not  so  bad  as  some 
others.  I,  for  example,  have  been  called  a 
'conscientious  writer'!" 

"Oh,  are  you  a  writer?" 

"Of  a  sort,  yes.  But,  as  you  were  saying — " 

"As  I  was  saying,  everything  was  going  so 
beautifully  until  ten  days  ago,  when  Helena's 
people  cabled  her  to  come  home.  Her  mother 
is  seriously  ill  and  cannot  live  more  than  a 
few  months.  She  went  at  once,  but  I  could  n't 
go  with  her  —  not  very  well,  in  midsummer 
—  and  so  here  I  am,  all  alone,  high  and  dry." 

She  leaned  her  chin  in  the  cup  of  her  hand 
and,  looking  absent-mindedly  at  the  shimmer- 
ing rushes,  fell  into  a  spell  of  silence  that  took 
no  account  of  Appleton. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  did  n't  mind  looking 
at  her  unobserved  for  a  moment  or  two.  He 
had  almost  complete  control  of  his  senses, 
and  he  did  n't  believe  she  could  be  as  pretty 
as  he  thought  she  was.  There  was  no  reason 
to  think  that  she  was  better  to  look  at  than 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

an  out-and-out  beauty.  Her  nose  was  n't 
Greek.  It  was  just  a  trifle  faulty,  but  it  was 
piquant  and  full  of  mischief.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  be  said  against  her  mouth  or  her  eye- 
lashes, which  were  beyond  criticism,  and  he 
particularly  liked  the  way  her  dark-brown 
hair  grew  round  her  temples  and  her  ears  — 
but  the  quality  in  her  face  that  appealed  most 
to  Appleton  was  a  soft  and  touching  youth- 
fulness. 

Suddenly  she  remembered  herself,  and  be- 
gan again: 

"Miss  Markham  and  I  had  twice  gone  to 
large  seaside  hotels  with  great  success,  but, 
of  course,  she  had  a  manager  and  a  reputa- 
tion. I  thought  I  would  try  the  same  thing 
alone  in  some  very  quiet  retreat,  and  see  if 
it  would  do.  Oh !  was  n't  it  funny ! "  (Here  she 
broke  into  a  perfectly  childlike  fit  of  laugh- 
ter.) "It  was  such  a  well-behaved,  solemn 
little  audience,  that  never  gave  me  an  inkling 
of  its  liking  or  its  loathing." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  did!"  remonstrated  Appleton. 
"They  loved  your  Scotch  songs." 

49 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Silently!"  cried  Tommy.  "I  had  dozens 
and  dozens  of  other  things  upstairs  to  sing  to 
them,  but  I  thought  I  was  suiting  my  pro- 
gramme to  the  place  and  the  people.  I  looked 
at  them  during  luncheon  and  made  my  se- 
lections." 

"You  are  flattering  the  week-enders." 

"I  believe  you  are  musical,"  she  ventured, 
looking  up  at  him  as  she  played  with  a  tuft 
of  sea-pinks. 

"I  am  passionately  fond  of  singing,  so  I 
seldom  go  to  concerts,"  he  answered,  some- 
what enigmatically.  "Your  programme  was 
an  enchanting  one  to  me." 

"It  was  good  of  its  kind,  if  the  audience 
would  have  helped  me,"  —  and  Tommy's  lip 
trembled  a  little;  "but  perhaps  I  could  have 
borne  that,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  the — plate." 

"Not  a  pleasant  custom,  and  a  new  one  to 
me,"  said  Appleton. 

"And  to  me!"  (Here  she  made  a  little 
grimace  of  disgust.)  "I  knew  beforehand  I 
had  to  face  the  plate  —  but  the  contents ! 
Where  did  you  sit?" 

50 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"I  was  forced  to  stay  a  trifle  in  the  back- 
ground,  I  entered  so  late.  It  was  your  ( Min- 
strel Boy'  that  dragged  me  out  of  my  arm- 
chair in  the  lounge." 

"Then  perhaps  you  saw  the  plate?  I  know 
by  your  face  that  you  did!  You  saw  the  six- 
pences, which  I  shall  never  forget,  and  the 
pennies,  which  I  will  never  forgive!  I  thirst  for 
the  blood  of  those  who  put  in  pennies!" 

"They  would  all  have  been  sitting  in  boil- 
ing oil  since  Friday  if  I  had  had  my  way," 
responded  Appleton. 

Tommy  laughed  delightedly.  "  I  know  now 
who  put  in  the  sovereign !  I  knew  every  face 
in  that  audience  —  that  wasn't  difficult  in 
so  small  a  one  —  and  I  tried  and  tried  to  fix 
the  sovereign  on  any  one  of  them,  and  could 
n't.  At  last  I  determined  that  it  was  the  old 
gentleman  who  went  out  in  the  middle  of 
'Allan  Water,'  feeling  that  he  would  rather 
pay  anything  than  stay  any  longer.  Confess ! 
it  was  you!" 

Appleton  felt  very  sheepish  as  he  met 
Tommy's  dancing  eyes  and  heightened  color. 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"  I  could  n't  bear  to  let  you  see  those  pen- 
nies," he  stammered,  "but  I  could  n't  get 
them  out  before  the  page  came  to  take  the 
plate." 

"Perhaps  you  were  'pound  foolish,'  and 
the  others  were  'penny  wise,'  but  it  was  aw- 
fully nice  of  you.  If  I  can  pay  my  bill  here 
without  spending  that  sovereign,  I  believe 
I  '11  keep  it  for  a  lucky  piece.  I  shall  be  very 
rich  by  Saturday  night,  anyway." 

"A  legacy  due?" 

"Goodness,  no!  I  have  n't  a  relation  in 
the  world  except  one,  who  disapproves  of  me; 
not  so  much  as  I  disapprove  of  him,  however. 
No,  Albert  Spalding  and  Donald  Tovey  have 
engaged  me  for  a  concert  in  Torquay." 

"I  have  some  business  in  Torquay  which 
will  keep  me  there  for  a  few  days  on  my  way 
back  to  Wells,"  said  Appleton  nonchalantly. 
(The  bishop's  letter  had  been  a  pure  and  un- 
defiled  source  of  information  on  all  points.) 

"Why,  how  funny!  I  hope  you'll  be  there 
on  Saturday.  There'll  be  no  plate!  Tickets 
two  and  six  to  seven  and  six,  but  you  shall 

52 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

be  my  guest,  my  sovereign  guest.  I  am  going 
to  Wells  myself  to  stay  till  —  till  I  make  up 
my  mind  about  a  few  things." 

"America  next?"  inquired  Appleton,  keep- 
ing his  voice  as  colorless  as  possible. 

"I  don't  know.  Helena  made  me  resign  my 
church  position  in  Brooklyn,  and  for  the  mo- 
ment my  t career'  is  undecided." 

She  laughed,  but  her  eyes  denied  the  mirth 
that  her  lips  affirmed,  and  Appleton  had  such 
a  sudden,  illogical  desire  to  meddle  with  her 
career,  to  help  or  hinder  it,  to  have  a  hand 
in  it  at  any  rate,  that  he  could  hardly  hold  his 
tongue. 

"The  Torquay  concert  will  be  charming, 
I  hope.  You  know  what  Spalding's  violin- 
playing  is,  and  Donald  Tovey  is  a  young 
genius  at  piano-playing  and  composing.  He 
is  going  to  accompany  me  in  some  of  his 
own  songs,  and  he  wants  me  to  sing  a  group 
of  American  ones  —  Macdowell,  Chadwick, 
Nevin,  Mrs.  Beach,  and  Margaret  Lang." 

"I  hope  you'll  accompany  yourself  in  some 
of  your  own  ballads!" 

53 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"No,  the  occasion  is  too  grand;  unless 
they  should  happen  to  like  me  very  much. 
Then  I  could  play  for  myself,  and  sing 
'Allan  Water/  or  'Believe  Me,'  or  'Early 
One  Morning,'  or  'Barbara  Allen.'" 

(Appleton  wondered  if  a  claque  of  sizable, 
trustworthy  boys  could  be  secured  in  Tor- 
quay, and  under  his  intelligent  and  inspired 
leadership  carry  Miss  Thomasina  Tucker 
like  a  cork  on  the  wave  of  success.) 

"Would  n't  it  be  lunch-time?"  asked  Miss 
Tucker,  after  a  slight  pause. 

"  It  is  always  time  for  something  when  I  'm 
particularly  enjoying  myself,"  grumbled  Ap- 
pleton, looking  at  his  watch.  "It's  not  quite 
one  o'clock.  Must  we  go  in?" 

"Oh,  yes;  we've  ten  minutes'  walk,"  — 
and  Tommy  scrambled  up  and  began  to 
brush  sand  from  her  skirts. 

"Couldn't  I  sit  at  your  table  —  under 
the  chaperonage  of  the  Bishop  of  Bath  and 
Wells?"  And  Appleton  got  on  his  feet  and 
collected  Tommy's  books. 

The  girl's  laugh  was  full-hearted  this  time. 

54 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  said.  "What  does  Bexley 
Sands  know  of  the  bishop  and  his  interest  in 
us  ?  But  if  you  can  find  the  drawing-room  ut- 
terly deserted  at  any  time,  I  '11  sing  for  you." 

"How  about  a  tea-basket  and  a  walk  to 
Gray  Rocks  at  four  o'clock?"  asked  Apple- 
ton  as  they  strolled  toward  the  hotel. 

"Charming!  And  I  love  singing  out  of 
doors  without  accompaniment.  I'm  deter- 
mined to  earn  that  sovereign  in  course  of 
time!  Are  you  from  New  England?" 

"Yes;  and  you?" 

"Oh,  I'm  from  New  York.  I  was  born  in 
a  row  of  brown-stone  fronts,  in  a  numbered 
street,  twenty-five  or  thirty  houses  to  a 
block,  all  exactly  alike.  I  wonder  how  I've 
outlived  my  start.  And  you  ?  " 

"In  the  country,  bless  it,  —  in  the  eastern 
part  of  Massachusetts.  We  had  a  garden  and 
my  mother  and  I  lived  in  it  during  all  the 
months  of  my  life  that  matter.  That's  where 
the  mignonette  grew." 

"'And  He  planted  a  garden  eastward  in 
Eden,' "  quoted  Tommy,  half  to  herself. 

55 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"It's  the  only  Eden  I  ever  knew!  Do  you 
like  it  over  here,  Miss  Tucker,  or  are  you 
homesick  now  that  your  friend  is  in  Amer- 
ica?" 

"Oh,  I'm  never  homesick;  for  the  reason 
that  I  have  never  had  any  home  since  I  was 
ten  years  old,  when  I  was  left  an  orphan.  I 
have  n't  any  deep  roots  in  New  York;  it's 
like  the  ocean,  too  big  to  love.  I  respect  and 
admire  the  ocean,  but  I  love  a  little  river. 
You  know  the  made-over  aphorism:  'The 
home  is  where  the  hat  is'?  For  'hat'  read 
'trunk,'  and  you  have  my  case,  precisely." 

"That's  because  you  are  absurdly,  riot- 
ously young!  It  won't  suit  you  forever." 

"Does  anything  suit  one  forever?"  asked 
Tommy  frivolously,  not  cynically,  but  mak- 
ing Appleton  a  trifle  uncomfortable  neverthe- 
less. "Anything  except  singing,  I  mean?  Per- 
haps you  feel  the  same  way  about  writing? 
You  have  n't  told  me  anything  about  your 
work,  and  I've  confided  my  past  history, 
present  prospects,  and  future  aspirations  to 
you!" 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"There's  not  so  much  to  say.  It  is  good 
work,  and  it  is  growing  better.  I  studied  archi- 
tecture at  the  Beaux-Arts.  I  do  art-criticism, 
and  I  write  about  buildings  chiefly.  That 
would  seem  rather  dull  to  a  warbler  like  you." 

"Not  a  bit.  Doesn't  somebody  say  that 
architecture  is  frozen  music?" 

"I  don't  get  as  immediate  response  to  my 
work  as  you  do  to  yours." 

"No,  but  you  never  had  sixpences  and 
pennies  put  into  your  plate!  Now  give  me 
my  books,  please.  I'll  go  in  at  the  upper  gate 
alone,  and  run  upstairs  to  my  room.  You 
enter  by  the  lower  one  and  go  through  the 
lounge,  where  the  guests  chiefly  congregate 
waiting  for  the  opening  of  the  dining-room. 
Au  revoir!" 

When  Tommy  opened  her  bedroom  door 
she  elevated  her  pretty,  impertinent  little 
nose  and  sniffed  the  air.  It  was  laden  with 
a  delicate  perfume  that  came  from  a  huge 
bunch  of  mignonette  on  the  table.  It  was 
long-stemmed,  fresh,  and  moist,  loosely  bound 
together,  and  every  one  of  its  tiny  brown  blos- 

57 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


soms  was  sending  out  fragrance  into  the  room. 
It  did  not  need  Fergus  Appleton's  card  to 
identify  the  giver,  but  there  it  was. 

"What  a  nice,  kind,  understanding  person 
he  is !  And  how  cheerful  it  makes  life  to  have 
somebody  from  your  own  country  taking  an 
interest  in  you,  and  liking  your  singing,  and 
hating  those  beastly  pennies!"  And  Tommy, 
quickly  merging  artist  in  woman,  slipped  on 
a  coatee  of  dull-green  crepe  over  her  old  black 
taffeta,  and  taking  down  her  hat  with  the  gar- 
land of  mignonette  from  the  shelf  in  her  closet, 
tucked  some  of  the  green  sprays  in  her  belt, 
and  went  down  to  luncheon.  She  did  n't  know 
where  Fergus  Appleton's  table  was,  but  she 
would  make  her  seat  face  his.  Then  she  could 
smile  thanks  at  him  over  the  mulligatawny 
soup,  or  the  filet  of  sole,  or  the  boiled  mutton, 
or  the  apple  tart.  Even  the  Bishop  of  Bath 
and  Wells  could  n't  object  to  that! 


THEIR  friendship  grew  perceptibly  during 
the  next  two  days,  though  constantly  under 

58 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

the  espionage  of  the  permanent  guests  of  the 
Bexley  Sands  Inn,  but  on  Wednesday  night 
Miss  Tucker  left  for  Torquay,  according  to 
schedule.  Fergus  Appleton  remained  behind, 
partly  to  make  up  arrears  in  his  literary  work, 
and  partly  as  a  sop  to  decency  and  common 
sense.  He  did  not  deem  it  either  proper  or 
dignified  to  escort  the  young  lady  on  her 
journey  (particularly  as  he  had  not  been  asked 
to  do  so),  so  he  pined  in  solitary  confinement 
at  Bexley  until  Saturday  morning,  when  he 
followed  her  to  the  scene  of  her  labors. 

After  due  reflection  he  gave  up  the  idea  of 
the  claque,  and  rested  Tommy's  case  on  the 
knees  of  the  gods,  where  it  transpired  that 
it  was  much  safer,  for  Torquay  liked  Tommy, 
and  the  concert  went  off  with  enormous  eclat. 
From  the  moment  that  Miss  Thomasina 
Tucker  appeared  on  the  platform  the  audi- 
ence looked  pleased.  She  wore  a  quaint  dress 
of  white  flounced  chiffon,  with  a  girdle  of 
green,  and  a  broad  white  hat  with  her  old 
mignonette  garland  made  into  two  little  nose- 
gays perched  on  either  side  of  the  transparent 

59 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


brim.  She  could  not  wear  the  mignonette 
that  Appleton  had  sent  to  her  dressing-room, 
because  she  would  have  been  obscured  by 
the  size  of  the  offering,  but  she  carried  as 
much  of  it  as  her  strength  permitted,  and 
laid  the  fragrant  bouquet  on  the  piano  as  she 
passed  it.  (A  poem  had  come  with  it,  but 
Tommy  did  not  dare  read  it  until  the  ordeal 
was  over,  for  no  one  had  ever  written  her  a 
poem  before.  It  had  three  long  verses,  and 
was  signed  "F.A."  —  that  was  all  she  had 
time  to  note.) 

A  long-haired  gentleman  sitting  beside 
Appleton  remarked  to  his  neighbor:  "The 
girl  looks  like  a  flower;  it's  a  pity  she  has  such 
a  heathenish  name!  Why  did  n't  they  call  her 
Hope,  or  Flora,  or  Egeria,  or  Cecilia?" 

When  the  audience  found  that  Miss  Tuck- 
er's singing  did  not  belie  her  charming  ap- 
pearance, they  cast  discretion  to  the  winds 
and  loved  her.  Appleton  himself  marveled  at 
the  beauty  of  her  performance  as  it  budded 
and  bloomed  under  the  inspiration  of  her  fel- 
low artists  and  the  favor  of  the  audience,  and 

60 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

the  more  he  admired  the  more  depressed  he 
became. 

"  She  may  be  on  the  threshold  of  a  modest 
'  career,'  of  a  sort,  after  all,"  he  thought,  "  and 
she  will  never  give  it  up  for  me.  Would  she 
be  willing  to  combine  me  with  the  career,  and 
how  would  it  work?  I  should  n't  be  churl 
enough  to  mind  her  singing  now  and  then, 
but  it  seems  to  me  I  could  n't  stand  '  tours.' 
Besides,  hers  is  such  a  childlike,  winsome, 
fragrant  little  gift  it  ought  not  to  be  ex- 
ploited like  a  great,  booming  talent!" 

The  audience  went  wild  over  Donald 
Tovey's  songs.  He  played,  and  Tommy  sang 
them  from  memory,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they 
had  been  written  then  and  there,  struck  off 
at  white  heat;  as  if  the  composer  happened 
to  be  at  the  piano,  and  the  singer  chanced 
with  his  help  to  be  interpreting  those  par- 
ticular verses  for  that  particular  moment. 

His  setting  of  "Jock  o'  Hazeldean  "  proved 
irresistible: 

"They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  an  ha'; 
The  ladie  was  not  seen." 

61 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 

And  then  with  a  swirl  and  a  torreat  of 
sound,  a  clangor  of  sword  and  a  clatter  of 
hoofs : 

"She's  o'er  the  Border  and  awa.' 
Wi'  Jock  o'  Hazeldean." 

Appleton  did  n't  see  any  valid  reason  why 
Tovey  should  kiss  Tommy's  hand  in  respond- 
ing to  the  third  recall,  but  supposed  it  must 
be  a  composer's  privilege,  and  wished  that 
he  were  one. 

Then  the  crowd  made  its  way  into  the 
brilliant  Torquay  sunshine,  and  Appleton 
lingered  in  the  streets  until  the  time  came  for 
the  tea-party  arranged  for  the  artists  at  the 
hotel. 

It  was  a  gay  little  gathering,  assisted  by  a 
charming  lady  of  the  town,  who  always  knew 
the  celebrated  people  who  flock  there  in  all 
seasons.  Spalding  and  Tovey  were  the  lions, 
but  Miss  Thomasina  Tucker  did  not  lack  for 
compliments.  Her  cheeks  glowed  and  her 
eyes  sparkled  under  the  white  tulle  brim  of 
her  hat.  Her  neck  looked  deliciously  white 
and  young,  rising  from  its  transparent  chif- 

62 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

fons,  and  her  bunch  of  mignonette  gave  a 
note  of  delicate  distinction.  The  long-haired 
gentleman  was  present,  and  turned  out  to 
be  a  local  poet.  He  told  Miss  Tucker  that 
she  ought  never  to  wear  or  to  carry  another 
flower.  "Not,  at  all  events,  till  you  pass 
thirty  1"  he  said.  "You  belong  together  — 
you,  your  songs,  and  the  mignonette!"  —  at 
which  she  flung  a  shy  upward  glance  at  Ap- 
pleton,  saying:  "It  is  this  American  friend 
who  has  really  established  the  connection, 
though  I  have  always  worn  green  and  white 
and  always  loved  the  flower." 

"You  sent  me  some  verses,  Mr.  Appleton," 
she  said,  as  the  poet  moved  away.  "I  have 
them  safe"  (and  she  touched  her  bodice), 
"but  I  have  n't  had  a  quiet  moment  to  read 
them." 

"Just  a  little  tribute,"  Appleton  answered 
carelessly.  "Are  you  leaving?  If  so,  I'll  get 
your  flowers  into  a  cab  and  drive  you  on." 

"No.  I  am  going,  quite  unexpectedly,  to 
Exeter  to-night.  Let  us  sit  down  in  this 
corner  a  moment  and  I'll  tell  you.  Mr.  Tovey 

63 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


has  asked  me  to  substitute  for  a  singer  who 
is  ill.  The  performance  is  on  Monday  and  I 
chance  to  know  the  cantata.  I  shall  not  be 
paid,  but  it  will  be  a  fine  audience  and  it  may 
lead  to  something;  after  all,  it's  not  out  of 
my  way  in  going  to  Wells." 

"Are  n't  you  overtired  to  travel  any  more 
to-night?" 

"No,  I  am  treading  air!  I  have  no  sense 
of  being  in  the  body  at  all.  Mrs.  Cholmon- 
deley,  that  dark-haired  lady  you  were  talk- 
ing with  a  moment  ago,  lives  in  Exeter  and 
will  take  me  to  her  house.  And  how  nice  that 
I  don't  have  to  say  good-bye,  for  you  still 
mean  to  go  to  Wells?" 

"Oh,  yes!  I  have  n't  nearly  finished  with 
the  cathedral  —  I  shall  be  there  before  you. 
Can  I  look  up  lodgings  or  do  anything  for 
you?" 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you.  I  shall  go  to  the  old 
place  where  Miss  Markham  and  I  lived  be- 
fore. The  bishop  and  Mrs.  Kennion  sent  us 
there  because  there  is  a  piano,  and  the  old 
ladies,  being  deaf,  don't  mind  musical  lodgers. 


MISS  THQMASINA  TUCKER 

Did  n't  the  concert  go  off  beautifully!  Such 
artists,  those  two  men;  so  easy  to  do  one's 
best  in  such  company." 

"It  was  a  triumph!  Does  n't  it  completely 
efface  the  memory  of  the  plate  and  the 
pennies?" 

"Yes,"  Tommy  answered.  "I  bear  no  ill- 
will  to  any  living  creature.  The  only  flaw  is 
my  horrid  name.  Can't  you  think  of  an- 
other for  me?  I've  just  had  an  anonymous 
note.  Hear  it!"  (taking  it  from  her  glove): 

DEAR  MADAM: 

The  name  of  Thomasina  Tucker  is  one  of  those 
bizarre  Americanisms  that  pain  us  so  frequently 
in  England.  I  fancy  you  must  have  assumed  it  for 
public  use,  and  if  so,  I  beg  you  will  change  it  now, 
before  you  become  too  famous.  The  grotesque 
name  of  Thomasina  Tucker  belittles  your  ex- 
quisite art. 

Very  truly  yours, 

A  WELL  WISHER. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?" 
Appleton  laughed   heartily  and  scanned 
the  note.  "It  is  from  some  doddering  old 

65 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


woman,"  he  said.  "The  name  given  you 
by  your  sponsors  in  baptism  to  be  con- 
demned as  a  '  bizarre  Americanism'!" 

"I  cannot  think  why  the  loyalty  of  my 
dear  mother  and  father  to  Tucker,  and  to 
Thomas,  should  have  made  them  saddle  me 
with  such  a  handicap!  They  might  have 
known  I  was  going  to  sing,  for  I  bawled 
incessantly  from  birth  to  the  age  of  twelve 
months.  I  shall  have  to  change  my  name, 
and  you  must  help  me  to  choose.  Au  revoir!" 
—  and  she  darted  away  with  a  handshake 
and  a  friendly  backward  glance  from  the 
door. 

"Can  I  think  of  another  name  for  her?" 
apostrophized  Appleton  to  himself.  "Can 
feminine  unconsciousness  and  cruelty  go 
farther  than  that?  Another  name  for  her 
shrieks  from  the  very  housetops,  and  I  agree 
with  'Well  Wisher'  that  she  ought  to  take 
it  before  she  becomes  too  famous;  before 
it  would  be  necessary,  for  instance,  to  de- 
scribe her  as  Madame  Tucker- Appleton!" 


66 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 


VI 

THESE  are  the  verses: 

To  Miss  TOMMY  TUCKER 
(WITH  A  BUNCH  OF  MIGNONETTE) 
A  garden  and  a  yellow  wedge 

Of  sunshine  slipping  through, 
And  there,  beside  a  bit  of  hedge, 

Forget-me-nots  so  blue, 
Bright  four-o'clocks  and  spicy  pinks, 

And  sweet,  old-fashioned  roses, 
With  daffodils  and  crocuses, 
And  other  fragrant  posies, 
And  in  a  corner,  'neath  the  shade 
By  flowering  apple  branches  made, 
Grew  mignonette. 

I  do  not  know,  I  cannot  say, 

Why,  when  I  hear  you  sing, 
Those  by-gone  days  come  back  to  me, 

And  in  their  long  train  bring 
To  mind  that  dear  old  garden,  with 

Its  hovering  honey-bees, 
And  liquid-throated  songsters  on 

The  blossom-laden  trees; 
Nor  why  a  fragrance,  fresh  and  rare, 
Should  on  a  sudden  fill  the  air, 
Of  mignonette! 

67 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Your  mem'ry  seems  a  garden  fair 

Of  old-time  flowers  of  song. 
There  Annie  Laurie  lives  and  loves, 
>     And  Mary  Morison, 
And  Black-eyed  Susan,  Alice  Grey, 

Phillida,  with  her  frown  — 
And  Barbara  Allen,  false  and  fair, 

From  famous  Scarlet  Town. 
What  marvel  such  a  garland  rare 
Should  breathe  sweet  odors  on  the  air, 
Like  mignonette? 

F.  A. 

VII 

THERE  was  never  such  a  summer  of  en- 
chanting weather  as  that  particular  summer 
in  Wells.  The  whole  population  of  Somer- 
setshire, save  those  who  had  crops  requir- 
ing rain,  were  in  a  heaven  of  delight  from 
morning  till  night.  Miss  Tommy  Tucker 
was  very  busy  with  some  girl  pupils,  and  as 
accompanist  for  oratorio  practice;  but  there 
were  blissful  hours  when  she  "studied"  the 
cathedral  with  Fergus  Appleton,  watching 
him  sketch  the  stately  Central  Tower,  or 
the  Lady  Chapel,  or  the  Chain  Gate.  There 

68 


MISS  THQMASINA  TUCKER 

were  afternoon  walks  to  Tor  Hill,  winding 
up  almost  daily  with  tea  at  the  palace,  for 
the  bishop  and  his  wife  were  miracles  of 
hospitality  to  the  two  Americans. 

Fergus  Appleton  had  declared  the  state  of 
his  mind  and  heart  to  Mrs.  Kennion  a  fewdays 
after  his  arrival,  though  after  his  confidence 
had  been  received  she  said  that  it  was  quite 
unnecessary,  as  she  had  guessed  the  entire  sit- 
uation the  moment  she  saw  them  together. 

"If  you  do,  it  is  more  than  Miss  Tucker 
does,"  said  Appleton,  "for  I  can't  flatter 
myself  that  she  suspects  in  the  least  what  I 
am  about." 

"You  have  n't  said  anything  yet?" 

"My  dear  Mrs,  Kennion,  I've  known 
her  less  than  a  fortnight!  It's  bad  enough 
for  a  man  to  fall  in  love  in  that  absurd 
length  of  time,  but  I  would  n't  ask  a  girl 
to  marry  me  on  two  weeks'  acquaintance. 
It  would  simply  be  courting  refusal. " 

"I  am  glad  you  feel  that  way  about  it, 
for  we  have  grown  greatly  attached  to  Miss 
Tucker,"  said  the  bishop's  wife.  "She  is 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


so  simple  and  unaffected,  so  lovable,  and 
such  good  company!  So  alone  in  the  world, 
yet  so  courageous  and  independent.  I 
hope  it  will  come  out  all  right  for  your  dear 
mother's  son,"  she  added  affectionately, 
with  a  squeeze  of  her  kind  hand.  "Miss 
Tucker  is  dining  here  to-morrow,  and  you 
must  come,  too,  for  she  has  offered  to  sing 
for  our  friends. " 

Everybody  agreed  that  Mrs.  Kennion's 
party  for  the  young  American  singer  was 
a  delightful  and  memorable  occasion.  She 
gave  them  song  after  song,  accompanying 
herself  on  the  Erard  grand  piano,  at  which 
she  always  made  such  a  pretty  picture.  It 
drifted  into  a  request  programme,  and 
Tommy,  whose  memory  was  inexhaustible, 
seemed  always  to  have  the  wished-for  song 
at  the  tip  of  her  tongue,  were  it  English, 
Scotch,  Irish,  or  Welsh.  There  was  general 
laughter  and  surprise  when  Madame  Eriks- 
son, a  Norwegian  lady  who  was  among  the 
guests,  asked  her  for  a  certain  song  of  Half- 
dan  Kjerulf  s. 

70 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"I  only  know  it  in  its  English  trans- 
lation," Tommy  said,  "and  I  haven't  sung 
it  for  a  year,  but  I  think  I  remember  it. 
Forgive  me  if  I  halt  in  the  words: 

"  '  I  hardly  know,  my  darling, 
What  mostly  took  my  heart, 
Unless  perhaps  your  singing 
Has  done  the  greater  part. 
I've  thrilled  to  many  voices, 
The  passionate,  the  strong, 
But  I  forgot  the  singer, 
And  I  forgot  the  song. 
But  there's  one  song,  my  darling, 
That  I  can  ne'er  forget. 
I  listened  and  I  trembled, 
And  felt  my  cheek  was  wet; 
It  seemed  my  heart  within  me 
Gave  answer  clear  and  low 
When  first  I  heard  you  sing,  dear, 
Then  first  I  loved  you  so!'  ' 

Tommy  had  sung  the  song  hundreds  of 
times  in  earlier  years,  and  she  had  not  the 
slightest  self-consciousness  when  she  be- 
gan it;  but  just  as  she  reached  the  last  four 
lines  her  eyes  met  Fergus  Appleton's.  He 
was  seated  in  a  far  corner  of  the  room, 

71 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


leaning  eagerly  forward,  with  one  arm  on  the 
back  of  a  chair  in  front  of  him.  She  was 
singing  the  words  to  the  company,  but  if 
ever  a  man  was  uttering  and  confirming 
them  it  was  Fergus  Appleton  at  that  mo- 
ment. The  blindest  woman  could  see,  the 
deafest  could  hear,  the  avowal. 

Tommy  caught  her  breath  quickly,  looked 
away,  braced  her  memory,  and  finished,  to 
the  keen  delight  of  old  Madame  Eriksson, 
who  rose  and  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks. 

Tommy  was  glad  that  her  part  of  the 
evening  was  over,  and  to  cover  her  con- 
fusion offered  to  sing  something  of  her 
own  composing,  the  Mother  Goose  rhyme 
of  "Little  Tommy  Tucker  Sings  for  His 
Supper,"  arranged  as  an  operatic  recitative 
and  aria.  The  humor  of  this  performance 
penetrated  even  to  the  remotest  fastnesses 
of  the  staid  cathedral  circle,  and  the  palace 
party  ended  in  something  that  positively 
resembled  merriment,  a  consummation  not 
always  to  be  reached  in  gatherings  ex- 
clusively clerical  in  character. 

72 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

The  bishop's  coachman  always  drove 
Miss  Tucker  home,  and  Appleton  always 
walked  to  his  lodgings,  which  were  in  the 
opposite  direction,  so  nothing  could  be 
done  that  night,  but  he  determined  that 
another  sun  should  not  go  down  before  he 
put  his  fate  to  the  touch. 

How  could  he  foresee  what  the  morning 
post  would  bring  and  deposit,  like  an  un- 
welcome bomb,  upon  his  breakfast  tray? 

His  London  publishers  wanted  to  see  him 
at  once,  not  only  on  a  multitude  of  details 
concerning  his  forthcoming  book,  but  on  a 
subject,  as  they  hoped,  of  great  interest  and 
importance  to  him. 

Thinking  it  a  matter  of  a  day  or  so, 
Appleton  scribbled  notes  to  Mrs.  Kennion 
and  Miss  Tucker,  with  whom  he  was  to  go 
on  an  excursion,  and  departed  forthwith  to 
London. 

Everything  happened  in  London.  The 
American  publishers  wanted  a  different 
title  for  the  book  and  four  more  chapters 
to  lengthen  it  to  a  size  selling  (at  a  profit) 

73 


LADIES  -IN-WAITING 


for  two  dollars  and  a  half.  The  English 
publishers  thought  he  had  dealt  rather 
slightingly  with  a  certain  very  interesting 
period,  and  he  remembered,  guiltily,  that 
he  had  been  at  Bexley  Sands  when  he  wrote 
the  chapters  in  question.  It  would  take 
three  days'  labor  to  fill  up  these  gaps,  he 
calculated,  and  how  fortunate  that  Miss 
Thomasina  Tucker  was  safely  entrenched  in 
the  heart  of  an  ecclesiastical  stronghold  for 
the  next  month  or  two;  a  town  where  he 
had  not,  so  far  as  he  knew,  a  single  formid- 
able rival.  He  wrote  her  regarding  his  un- 
expected engagements,  adding  with  legiti- 
mate pride  that  one  of  England's  foremost 
critics  had  offered  to  write  a  preface  for  his 
book;  then  he  settled  to  his  desk  and  slaved 
at  his  task  until  it  was  accomplished,  when 
he  departed  with  a  beating  heart  for  the 
town  and  county  that  held  Miss  Thomasina 
Tucker  in  their  keeping. 

Alighting  at  the  familiar  railway  station, 
he  took  a  hansom,  intending  to  drop  his  port- 
manteau at  his  lodgings  and  go  on  to  the  pal- 

74 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

ace  for  news,  but  as  he  was  driving  by  the 
deanery  on  the  north  side  of  Cathedral  Green, 
he  encountered  Mrs.  Kennion  in  her  victoria. 
She  signaled  him  with  her  hand  and  spoke 
to  her  coachman,  who  drew  up  his  horses. 
Alighting  from  his  hansom,  he  strode  forward 
to  take  her  welcoming  hand,  his  face  radiating 
the  pleasure  of  a  home-coming  traveler. 

"If  you  '11  let  the  cabman  take  your  lug- 
gage, I  'd  like  to  drive  you  home  myself.  I 
have  something  to  tell  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Kennion,  making  room  for  him  by  her  side. 

"Nothing  has  happened,  I  hope?"  he 
asked  anxiously. 

"Miss  Tucker  is  leaving  for  America 
to-morrow  morning." 

"Going  away?"  Appleton's  tone  was  one 
of  positive  dismay. 

"Yes.  It  is  all  very  sudden  and  unex- 
pected." 

"Sailing  to-morrow?"  exclaimed  Apple- 
ton,  taking  out  his  watch.  "From  where? 
How  can  I  get  there?" 

"Not  sailing  to-morrow  —  leaving  Wells 

75 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


to-morrow  on  an  early  train  and  sailing 
Saturday  from  Southampton." 

"Oh,  the  world  is  not  lost  entirely,  then!" 
—  and  Appleton  leaned  back  and  wiped  his 
forehead.  "What  has  happened?  I  ought 
never  to  have  gone  to  London. " 

"She  had  a  cable  yesterday  from  her 
Brooklyn  church,  offering  her  a  better 
position  in  the  choir,  but  saying  that  they 
could  hold  it  only  ten  days.  By  post  on 
the  same  day  she  received  a  letter  from  a 
New  York  friend  —  " 

"Was  it  a  Carl  Bothwick?" 

"No;  a  Miss  Macleod,  who  said  that  a 
much  better  position  was  in  the  market  in  a 
church  where  Miss  Tucker  had  influential 
friends.  She  was  sure  that  if  Miss  Tucker 
returned  immediately  to  sing  for  the  com- 
mittee she  could  secure  a  thousand-dollar 
salary.  We  could  do  nothing  but  advise  her 
to  make  the  effort,  you  see." 

"Did  she  seem  determined  to  go?" 

"No;  she  appeared  a  little  undecided  and 
timid.  However,  she  said  frankly  that, 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

though  she  had  earned  enough  in  England 
to  pay  her  steamer  passage  to  America,  and 
a  month's  expenses  afterward,  she  could 
not  be  certain  of  continuing  to  do  so  much 
through  a  London  winter.  *  If  I  only  had  a 
little  more  time  to  think  it  out,'  she  kept 
saying,  'but  I  have  n't,  so  I  must  go! '" 

"Where  is  she  now?" 

"At  her  lodgings.  The  bishop  is  de- 
tained in  Bath  and  I  am  dining  with  friends 
in  his  stead.  I  thought  you  might  go  and 
take  her  to  dinner  at  the  Swan,  so  that  she 
should  n't  be  alone,  and  then  bring  her  to 
the  palace  afterward  —  if  —  if  all  is  well." 

"If  I  have  any  luck  two  churches  will  be 
lamenting  her  loss  to-morrow  morning," 
said  Fergus  gloomily;  "but  she  would  n't 
have  consented  to  go  if  she  cared  anything 
about  me!" 

"Nonsense,  my  dear  boy!  You  were 
away.  No  self-respecting  girl  would  wire 
you  to  come  back.  She  was  helpless  even 
if  she  did  care.  Here  we  are!  Shall  I  send 
a  hansom  back  in  half  an  hour?" 

77 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Twenty-five  minutes  will  do  it,"  Ap- 
pleton  answered  briskly.  "You  are  an 
angel,  dear  lady!" 

"Keep  your  blarney!  I  hope  you'll  need 
it  all  for  somebody  else  to-night!  Good 
fortune,  dear  boy!" 

VIII 

APPLETON  flung  the  contents  of  his  port- 
manteau into  his  closet,  rid  himself  of  the 
dust  of  travel,  made  a  quick  change,  and  in 
less  than  forty  minutes  was  at  the  door  of 
Miss  Tucker's  lodgings. 

She  had  a  little  sitting-room  on  the  first 
floor,  and  his  loud  rat-a-tat  brought  her  to 
the  door  instead  of  the  parlor-maid. 

At  the  unexpected  sight  of  him  she  turned 
pale. 

"Why  — why,  I  thought  it  was  the  lug- 
gage-man. Where  did  you  come  from?" 
she  stammered. 

"From  London,  an  hour  ago.  I  met  Mrs. 
Kennion  on  my  way  from  the  station." 

"  Oh !  Then  she  told  you  I  am  going  home  ? " 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"Yes,  she  told  me.  How  could  you  go 
to  America  without  saying  good-bye,  Miss 
Tommy?" 

She  flushed  and  looked  perilously  near 
tears. 

"I  wrote  to  you  this  morning  as  soon  as 
I  had  decided,"  she  said.  "I  don't  like  to 
dart  off  in  this  way,  you  can  imagine,  but 
it 's  a  question  of  must." 

He  did  not  argue  this  with  her;  that  was 
a  bridge  to  be  crossed  when  a  better  under- 
standing had  been  reached;  so,  as  if  taking 
the  journey  as  an  inexorable  fact,  he  said: 
"Come  out  and  dine  with  me  somewhere, 
and  let  us  have  a  good  talk." 

"I  'm  afraid  I  can't.  I  'm  eating  now  on  a 
tray  in  my  sitting-room,"  —  and  she  waved 
a  table  napkin  she  was  holding  in  her  hand. 
"I  am  rather  tired,  and  Miss  Scattergood 
gave  me  some  bacon  and  an  egg  from  the 
nest." 

"Give  the  bacon  to  the  cat  and  put  back 
the  egg  in  the  nest,"  he  said  coaxingly. 
"Mrs.  Kennion  said:  'Don't  let  her  eat 

79 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


her  last  dinner  alone.  Take  her  to  the 
Swan.'" 

"Oh,  I  am  only  in  my  traveling-clothes 
and  the  Swan  is  full  of  strangers  to-night." 

"The  Green  Dragon,  then,  near  the  ca- 
thedral. You  look  dressed  for  Buckingham 
Palace." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  melted 
at  the  eagerness  of  his  wish.  "Well,  then, 
if  you'll  wait  five  minutes." 

"Of  course;  I'll  go  along  to  the  corner 
and  whistle  a  hansom  from  the  stand. 
Don't  hurry!" 

The  mental  processes  of  Miss  Thomas- 
ina  Tucker  had  been  very  confused  during 
the  excitement  of  the  last  twenty-four  hours. 

That  she  loved  Fergus  Appleton  she  was 
well  aware  since  the  arrival  of  the  cable- 
gram calling  her  back  to  America.  Up  to 
that  time  she  had  fenced  with  her  love  — 
parried  it,  pricked  it,  thrust  it  off,  drawn 
it  back,  telling  herself  that  she  had  plenty 
of  time  to  meet  the  issue  if  it  came.  That 
Fergus  Appleton  loved  her  she  was  also 

80 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

fairly  well  convinced,  but  that  fact  did  not 
always  mean  —  everything  —  she  told  her- 
self, with  a  pitiful  little  attempt  at  worldly 
wisdom.  Perhaps  he  preferred  his  liberty 
to  any  woman;  perhaps  he  did  not  want  to 
settle  down;  perhaps  he  was  engaged  to 
some  one  whom  he  did  n't  care  for  now,  but 
would  have  to  marry;  perhaps  he  had  n't 
money  enough  to  share  with  a  wife;  per- 
haps he  was  a  flirt  —  no,  she  would  not 
admit  that  for  an  instant.  Anyway,  she 
was  alone  in  the  world,  and  the  guardian  of 
her  own  dignity.  If  she  could  have  allowed 
matters  to  drift  along  in  the  heavenly  un- 
certainty of  these  last  days,  there  would  have 
been  no  problem;  but  when  she  was  forced 
to  wake  from  her  delicious  dream  and  fly 
from  everything  that  held  her  close  and 
warm,  fly  during  Fergus  Appleton's  ab- 
sence, without  his  knowledge  or  consent  — 
that  indeed  was  heart-breaking.  And  still 
her  pride  showed  her  but  the  one  course. 
She  was  alone  in  the  world  and  without 
means  save  those  earned  by  her  own  exer- 

81 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


tions.  A  living  income  was  offered  her  in 
America  and  she  must  take  it  or  leave  it  on 
the  instant.  She  could  not  telegraph  Fergus 
Appleton  in  London  and  acquaint  him  with 
her  plans,  as  if  they  depended  on  him  for 
solution;  she  could  only  write  him  a  warm 
and  friendly  good-bye.  If  he  loved  her  as 
much  as  a  man  ought  who  loved  at  all,  he 
had  time  to  follow  her  to  Southampton  be- 
fore her  ship  sailed.  If  business  kept  him 
from  such  a  hurried  journey,  he  could  ask 
her  to  marry  him  in  a  sixpenny  wire,  reply 
paid.  If  he  neither  came  nor  wired,  but  sent 
a  box  of  mignonette  to  the  steamer  with  his 
card  and  "Bon  voyage"  written  on  it,  she 
would  bury  something  unspeakably  dear  and 
precious  that  had  only  just  been  born  — 
bury  it,  and  plant  mignonette  over  it.  And 
she  could  always  sing!  Thank  Heaven  for  the 
gift  of  song! 

This  was  Tommy's  mood  when  she  was 
packing  her  belongings,  after  hearing  the 
bishop  say  that  Appleton  could  not  return 
till  noon  next  day.  It  had  changed  a  trifle  by 

82 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

the  time  that  Fergus  had  gone  to  the  corner 
to  whistle  for  a  hansom.  Her  gray  frieze 
jacket  and  skirt  were  right  enough  when  she 
hastily  slipped  on  a  better  blouse  with  a  deep 
embroidered  collar,  pinned  with  Helena 
Markham's  parting  gift  of  an  emerald  clover- 
leaf.  Her  gray  straw  hat  had  a  becoming  band 
of  flat  green  leaves,  and  she  had  a  tinge  of 
color.  (Nothing  better  for  roses  in  the  cheeks 
than  hurrying  to  be  ready  for  the  right  man.) 
Anyway,  such  beauty  as  Tommy  had  was 
always  there,  and  when  she  came  to  the 
door  she  smote  Appleton's  eyes  as  if  she 
were  "the  first  beam  from  the  springing 
east." 

Once  in  the  hansom,  they  talked  gayly. 
They  dared  not  stop,  indeed,  for  when  they 
kept  on  whipping  the  stream  they  forgot  the 
depth  of  the  waters  underneath. 

Meantime  the  Green  Dragon,  competitor 
of  the  Swan,  had  great  need  of  their  lavish 
and  interesting  patronage. 

The  Swiss  head  waiter,  who  was  new  to 

83 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Wells,  was  a  man  of  waxed  mustaches  and 
sleepless  ambitions.  The  other  hotels  had 
most  of  the  tourists,  but  he  intended  to 
retrieve  the  fortunes  of  his  employer,  and 
bring  prosperity  back  to  the  side  streets. 
He  adored  his  vocation,  and  would  have 
shed  his  heart's  blood  on  the  altar  of  any 
dining-room  of  which  he  had  charge. 

There  were  nine  tables  placed  about  the 
large  room,  though  not  more  than  three  had 
been  occupied  in  his  tenure  of  office;  but  all 
were  beautifully  set  with  flowers  and  bright 
silver  and  napkins  in  complicated  foldings. 
Pasteboard  cards  with  large  black  numbers 
from  one  to  eight  stood  erect  on  eight  of  the 
tables,  and  on  the  ninth  an  imposing  pla- 
card bore  the  sign: 

ENGAGED 

in  letters  two  inches  high,  giving  the  idea 
that  a  hungry  crowd  was  waiting  to  surge  in 
and  take  the  seats. 

The  second  man,  trained  within  an  inch 
of  his  life,  had  been  already  kindled  by  the 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

enthusiasm  of  his  superior,  and  shared  his 
vigils. 

This  very  evening  there  had  been  hopes 
deferred  and  sickened  hearts  over  the  in- 
difference of  the  public  to  a  menu  fit  for  a 
king.  Were  there  not  consomme  royale,  filet 
of  sole,  maitre  d'hotel,  poulet  en  casserole, 
pommes  de  terres  sautes,  haricots  verts,  and 
a  wonderful  Camembert?  A  savory  could  be 
inserted  in  an  instant,  and  a  sweet  arranged 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

"A  carriage,  Walter!  Prepare!" 

Both  flew  silently  to  the  window. 

"Two  ladies;  ah,  they  are  not  alighting! 
They  wish  to  know  if  there  is  evening  serv- 
ice in  the  cathedral." 

"  A  gentleman, Walter !  In  a  four-wheeler ! " 

"No,  he  dines  not.  He  has_come  to  request 
his  umbrella  of  the  porter." 

"A  hansom,  Walter!" 

"Ah,  they  alight.  She  is  of  an  elegance 
unmistakable.They  are  young  married  ones, 
and  will  dine  well.  Hasten,  Walter,  and  or- 
der both  sweet  and  savory!" 

85 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Fergus  and  Tommy  looked  about  the  cozy 
room  with  pleasure  as  they  entered,  re- 
ceiving the  salute  of  Gustave  and  the  English 
bow  of  Walter  as  tributes  to  their  deep,  un- 
spoken hopes. 

"Where  will  you  sit,  Miss  Tucker?" 
asked  Appleton,  and  as  he  spoke  his  quick 
eye  observed  the  "Engaged"  placard,  and 
with  lightning  dexterity  he  steered  his  guest 
toward  that  table.  (There  was  an  opening, 
if  you  like !)  Not  quick  enough  for  Tommy, 
though,  for  she  had  seen  it  and  dropped  into 
a  seat  several  feet  away,  declaring  its  posi- 
tion was  perfect.  Gustave  put  menus  before 
his  distinguished  clients  with  a  flourish,  and 
indicated  the  wine  card  as  conspicuously  as 
was  consistent  with  good  form.  Then  he 
paused  and  made  mental  notes  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

"Ah,  very  good,  very  good,"  murmured 
Appleton.  "You  might  move  the  flowers, 
please;  they  rather  hide  —  the  view;  and 
bring  the  soup,  please." 

"Very  young  married  ones ! "  thought  Gus- 

86 


MISS  THQMASINA  TUCKER 

tave,  summoning  his  slave  and  retiring  to  a 
point  where  he  could  watch  the  wine  card. 
Walter  brought  the  consomme,  and  then 
busied  himself  at  the  other  tables.  They 
would  never  be  occupied,  but  it  was  just  as 
well  to  pretend,  so  he  set  hideous  colored 
wine-glasses,  red,  green,  and  amber,  at  the 
various  places,  and  polished  them  ostenta- 
tiously with  a  clean  napkin  in  the  hope  that 
the  gentleman  would  experience  a  desire  for 
liquid  refreshment. 

"This  is  very  jolly,  and  very  unexpected," 
said  Appleton. 
"It  is,  indeed." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  miss  the  nest-egg. " 
"You  mustn't  call  it  a  nest-egg!  That's 
a  stale  thing,  or  a  china  one  that  they  leave 
in,  I  don't  know  why  —  for  an  example,  or  a 
pattern,  or  a  suggestion, "  said  Tommy,  laugh- 
ing.  "An  egg  from  the  nest  is  Miss  Scatter- 
good's  phrase,  and  it  means  a  new-laid  one." 
"Oh,  I  see!  —  well,  do  you  regret  it?" 
"Certainly  not,  with  this  sumptuous  re- 
past just  beginning!" 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"You  always  give  me  an  appetite,"  ex- 
claimed Appleton. 

"It's  a  humble  function,  but  not  one  to 
be  despised,"  Tommy  answered  mischiev- 
ously, fencing,  fencing  every  minute,  with 
her  heart  beating  against  her  ribs  like  a 
sledge-hammer. 

Walter  brought  the  fish  and  solicitously 
freed  the  wine  card  that  had  somehow  crept 
under  a  cover  of  knives  and  forks. 

"I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons.  What  will 
you  drink,  Miss  Tucker?  We  must  have  a 
drop  of  something  to  cheer  us  at  a  farewell 
dinner.  Here  is  a  vintage  champagne,  a  good 
honest  wine  that  will  hearten  us  up  and 
leave  no  headache  in  its  train." 

"I  couldn't  to-night,  Mr.  Appleton;  I 
really  could  n't." 

"Then  I  refuse  to  be  exhilarated  alone," 
said  Fergus  gallantly;  "and  you  always  have 
the  effect  of  champagne  on  me  anyway.  I 
decline  to  say  good-bye.  I  can't  even  believe 
it  is  'au  revoir'  between  us.  We  had  such 
delightful  days  ahead,  and  so  many  plans." 

88 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"Yes;  it  is  n't  nice  to  make  up  your  mind 
so  suddenly  that  it  turns  everything  topsy- 
turvy, "  sighed  Tommy  —  "I  won't  have 
any  meat,  thank  you." 

Walter  looked  distinctly  grieved.  "I  can 
recommend  the  pulley-ong-cazzerole,  miss, 
and  there 's  potatoes  sortey  with  it." 

Tommy's  appetite  kindled  at  the  sound 
of  his  accent,  and  she  relented.  "Yes,  I'll 
have  a  small  portion,  please,  after  all." 

"When  friends  are  together  the  world 
seems  very  small,  and  when  they  are  sepa- 
rated it  becomes  a  space  too  vast  for  human 
comprehension  —  I  think  I  've  heard  that 
before,  but  it 's  true, "  said  Appleton. 

"Yes,"  Tommy  answered,  for  lack  of  any- 
thing better  to  say. 

"It  seems  as  if  we  had  known  each  other 
for  years. " 

"And  it  is  less  than  three  weeks,"  was 
Tommy's  contribution  to  the  lagging  con- 
versation. 

"The  bishop  offered  me  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction to  you  when  he  wrote  me  at  the 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Bexley  Sands  Inn,  you  remember,  but  he 
added  in  a  postscript  that  in  case  of  accident 
he  was  not  to  be  held  responsible.  Rather 
cryptic,  I  thought  —  at  the  time." 

"A  little  Commonburg,  sir?"  asked  Wal- 
ter. "It  is  a  very  fine  ripe  one,  and  we  have 
some  fresh  water-cress. " 

c" Commonburg,'  Miss  Tucker?  No?  Then 
bring  the  coffee,  please. " 

A  desperate  silence  fell  between  them, 
they  who  had  talked  unendingly  for  days 
and  evenings! 

When  Walter  brought  the  tray  with  the 
coffee-pot  and  the  two  little  cups,  Apple- 
ton  suddenly  pushed  his  chair  back,  say- 
ing: "Let  us  take  our  coffee  over  by  the 
window,  shall  we,  and  perhaps  I  may  have 
a  cigarette  later?  Don't  light  the  gas, 
waiter  —  we  want  to  see  the  hills  and  the 
afterglow." 

There  was  no  avoiding  it;  Appleton  and 
the  waiter  conveyed  Tommy  helplessly  over 
to  a  table  commanding  the  view  and  the 
sunset,  and  it  was  the  one  on  which  the  huge 

90 


MISS  THQMASINA  TUCKER 

"  Engaged  "  placard  reared  itself  persuasively 
and  suggestively. 

"We  shall  need  nothing  more,  waiter;  you 
may  go;  I  think  this  will  cover  the  bill,"  — 
and  scorning  the  chair  opposite  Tommy, 
Appleton  seated  himself  beside  her. 

"You  have  turned  your  back  to  the  after- 
glow," she  said,  as  she  reached  forward  to 
move  "Engaged"  to  a  position  a  trifle  less 
obvious. 

"I  don't  care  tuppence  about  the  after- 
glow," and  Appleton  covered  her  hand  with 
his  own.  "Make  it  come  true,  dear,  dear 
Tommy!  Make  it  come  true!" 

"What?"  she  asked,  between  a  smile  and 
a  tear. 

"The  placard,  dear,  the  placard!  If  you 
should  travel  the  world  over,  you  could  n't 
find  a  man  who  loves  you  as  I  do." 

"What  would  be  the  use  in  my  traveling 
about  to  find  another  man  when  I  am  so 
satisfied  with  this  one?"  whispered  Tommy. 
"Oh,  remember!  they  may  come  back  at 
any  moment!" 

91 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"I  will,  I  will,  if  only  I  may  have  the  com- 
fort of  holding  your  hand  after  all  my  miser- 
able doubts !  I  never  knew  what  companion- 
ship meant  before  I  met  you !  I  never  really 
cared  about  life  until  now." 

"I  have  always  cared  about  it,  but  never 
like  this,"  confessed  Tommy.  "You  see,  I 
have  always  been  alone,  ever  since  I  grew  up." 

"And  I!  How  wonderful  of  Fate  to  bring 
us  together!  And  will  you  let  me  cable  to  the 
churches  that  you  cannot  come  home  just 
yet?" 

"You  think  I  'd  better  not  go  —  so  soon?" 

"Without  me?  Never!  You  shall  go  any- 
where you  like,  any  time  you  like,  so  long  as 
you  take  me  with  you.  We  '11  settle  all  those 
things  to-morrow  —  the  blessedest  day  that 
ever  dawned,  that's  what  to-morrow  will 
be!  Could  n't  you  marry  me  to-morrow, 
Tommy?" 

"Certainly  not!  At  any  rate  —  not  in  the 
morning!"  said  Tommy  mischievously,  with- 
drawing her  hand  and  moving  out  of  the 
danger  zone. 

92 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"And  you  must  remember  that  your 
talent  is  your  own,  to  use  as  you  like!"Ap- 
pleton  continued  after  a  well-filled  pause. 
"Your  voice  is  a  unique  and  precious  gift. 
I  '11  try  not  to  be  selfish  with  it,  or  jealous  of 
it,  though  if  it  had  half  the  effect  on  other 
men  that  it  has  upon  me,  the  floor  would  be 
strewn  with  broken  hearts  every  time  you 
sing!"  —  and  he  hummed  under  his  breath: 

"I  hardly  know,  my  darling, 
What  mostly  took  my  heart, 
Unless  perhaps  your  singing 
Has  done  the  greater  part." 

"Oh,  you  dear  absurdity!"  said  Tommy, 
twinkling  and  sparkling  enchantingly. — 
"I  wish  the  waiter  would  n't  come  in  every 
time  I  want  to  say  something  especially 
private!" 

"'  Confound  his  politics,  frustrate  his 
knavish  tricks, '  but  we  shall  soon  be  out  of 
his  reach,  spinning  along  to  the  palace." 

"Are  we  going  there?  Oh!  I  shall  be  afraid 
to  tell  the  bishop  and  Mrs.  Kennion!" 

"You  need  n't  be.  I  told  Mrs.  Kennion 

93 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


this  afternoon  that  I  loved  you  to  distrac- 
tion. If  the  bishop  is  back  from  Bath,  she'll 
have  passed  on  the  information  by  now." 

"I  was  just  going  to  say,  when  the  waiter 
came  so  near,  that  it  is  n't  the  public  I  love, 
it's  the  singing!  Just  to  sing  and  sing,  that's 
what  I  long  to  do!" 

"And  what  you  shall  do,  so  help  me!  You 
know  you  wanted  me  to  find  a  new  name  for 
you?  Was  n't  I  clever  to  think  of  Apple- 
ton?" 

"Very!  And  you're  kindly  freeing  me  of 
half  of  my  'bizarre  Americanism,'  as  my 
Torquay  correspondent  called  it.  How  shall 
we  deal  with  Thomasina?" 

"We'll  call  her  Tommy.  A  darling,  kiss- 
able  little  name,  Tommy!  —  No,  I'm  not 
going  to  do  anything!" 

"You  don't  think  it's  cowardly  of  me  to 
marry  you?" 

"Cowardly?" 

"Yes,  when  I  haven't  actually  proved 
that  I  can  earn  my  living;  at  least,  I  have  n't 
done  it  long  enough,  or  well  enough,  yet." 

94 


MISS  THOMASINA  TUCKER 

"I  think  it's  brave  of  you  to  marry  me." 

"Brave?" 

"To  turn  your  back  on  a  possible  career." 

"It's  not  the  ' careering'  that  I  love; 
though  it  will  seem  very  strange  when 
Tommy  Tucker  does  n't  have  to  sing  for 
her  supper!  —  Shall  we  go?  The  waiter  is 
coming  in  again.  I  believe  he  thinks  we  are 
going  to  run  off  with  the  spoons!" 

"So  we  are!  At  least,  when  we  go,  the 
spoons  will  go!  I  know  it's  a  poor  joke,  but 
I  am  too  happy  to  be  brilliant.  Call  the  head 
waiter,  please,"  —  this  to  Walter,  who  de- 
spaired of  ever  getting  rid  of  his  guests,  and 
was  agreeably  disappointed  that  a  gentleman 
who  had  not  ordered  wine  should  ask  for 
Gustave. 

Appleton  took  the  "  Engaged  "  placard  off 
the  table  and  used  it  nonchalantly  as  a  fan 
in  crossing  the  room.  Then  as  he  drew  near 
the  men  he  slipped  two  gold  pieces  into 
Tommy's  hand. 

"May  I  carry  away  this  placard,  waiter?" 
he  asked,  as  if  it  were  quite  a  sane  request. 

95 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"I've  taken  a  fancy  to  it  as  a  souvenir  of  a 
most  delightful  and  memorable  dinner. " 

"Assuredly,  assuredly!"  murmured  Gus- 
tave.  He  knew  that  there  was  romance  in  the 
air,  although  he  did  not  perceive  the  exact 
point  of  Appleton's  request. 

"The  young  lady  will  reward  you  for 
your  courtesy.  No;  I '11  help  with  her  jacket, 
thank  you." 

Tommy,  overcome  with  laughter  and  con- 
fusion and  blushes,  pressed  the  gold  pieces 
into  the  hands  of  the  astonished  waiters,  who 
bowed  almost  to  the  floor. 

"You  are  always  giving  me  sovereigns, 
dear  Fergus,"  she  whispered  with  a  laugh 
and  something  like  a  sob,  as  they  drove 
along  in  the  delicious  nearness  provided  by 
the  hansom. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Fergus.  "You  will 
be  giving  me  one  when  you  marry  me!" 


THE  TURNING-POINT 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

NOT  far  from  the  village  of  Bonny  Eagle, 
on  the  west  bank  of  the  Saco,  stood  two 
little  low-roofed  farmhouses;  the  only  two 
that  had  survived  among  others  of  the  same 
kind  that  once  dotted  the  green  brink  of  the 
river. 

Long  years  before,  in  1795  or  there- 
abouts, there  had  been  a  cluster  of  log 
houses  on  this  very  spot,  known  then  as  the 
Dalton  Right  Settlement,  and  these  in  turn 
had  been  succeeded  at  a  later  date  by  the 
more  comfortable  frame-roof  farmhouses  of 
the  period. 

In  the  old  days,  before  the  sound  of  the 
axe  for  the  first  time  disturbed  the  stillness 
of  the  forest,  the  otter  swam  in  the  shadowy 
coves  near  the  shore  and  the  beaver  built 
his  huts  near  by.  The  red  deer  came  down  to 
dip  his  antlers  and  cool  his  flanks  in  the  still 
shallows.  The  speckled  grouse  sat  on  her 

99 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


nest  in  the  low  pine  boughs,  while  her  mate 
perched  on  the  mossy  logs  by  the  riverside 
unmolested. 

The  Sokokis  built  their  bark  wigwams 
here  and  there  on  the  bank,  paddling  their 
birch  canoes  over  the  river's  smooth  surface, 
or  threading  the  foamy  torrents  farther 
down  its  course. 

Here  was  the  wonderful  spring  that  fed, 
and  still  feeds,  Aunt  Judy's  Brook,  the  most 
turbulent  little  stream  in  the  county.  Many 
a  moccasin  track  has  been  made  in  the 
soft  earth  around  the  never-failing  fountain, 
and  many  the  wooden  bucket  lowered  into 
its  crystal  depths  by  the  Dalton  Righters 
when  in  their  turn  they  possessed  the  land. 

The  day  of  the  Indian  was  over  now,  and 
the  day  of  the  farmer  who  succeeded  him 
was  over,  too.  The  crash  of  the  loom  and 
the  whir  of  the  spinning-wheel  were  heard 
no  longer,  but  Amanda  Dalton,  spinster,  — 
descendant  of  the  original  Tristram  Dalton, 
to  whom  the  claim  belonged,  —  sat  on  alone 
in  her  house,  and  not  far  away  sat  Caleb 

100 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

Kimball,  sole  living  heir  of  the  original  Caleb, 
himself  a  Dalton  Righter,  and  contemporary 
of  Tristram  Dalton. 

Neither  of  these  personages  took  any  in- 
terest in  pedigree  or  genealogy.  They  knew 
that  their  ancestors  had  lived  and  died  on  the 
same  acres  now  possessed  by  them,  but  the 
acres  had  dwindled  sadly,  and  the  ancestors 
had  seemingly  left  little  for  which  to  be 
grateful.  Indeed,  in  Caleb's  case  they  had 
been  a  distinct  disadvantage,  since  the  local 
sense  of  humor,  proverbially  strong  in  York 
County,  had  always  preserved  a  set  of  Kim- 
ball  stories  among  its  most  cherished  pos- 
sessions. Some  of  them  might  have  been  for- 
gotten in  the  century  and  a  half  that  had 
elapsed,  if  the  Caleb  of  our  story  had  not 
been  the  inheritor  of  certain  family  traits 
famous  in  their  day  and  generation. 

Caleb  the  first  had  been  the  "cuss"  of 
his  fellow  farmers,  because  in  coming  from 
Scarboro  to  join  the  Dalton  Righters  he  had 
brought  whiteweed  with  the  bundle  of  hay 
for  his  cattle  when  he  was  clearing  the  land. 

101 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


The  soil  of  this  particular  region  must  have 
been  especially  greedy  for,  and  adapted  to, 
this  obnoxious  grass-killer,  for  it  flourished  as 
in  no  other  part  of  the  county;  flourishes 
yet,  indeed  —  though,  if  one  can  forget 
that  its  presence  means  poor  feed  for  cattle 
where  might  be  a  crop  of  juicy  hay,  the 
blossoming  fields  of  the  old  Dalton  Settle- 
ment look,  in  early  June,  the  loveliest,  most 
ethereal,  in  New  England.  There,  a  million 
million  feathery  daisies  sway  and  dance  in 
the  breeze,  lifting  their  snowy  wheels  to  the 
blue  June  sky.  There  they  grow  and  thrive, 
the  slender  green  stalks  tossing  their  pearly 
disks  among  sister  groves  of  buttercups  till 
the  eye  is  fairly  dazzled  with  the  symphony 
of  white  and  gold.  The  back-aching  farm- 
ers of  the  original  Dalton  Settlement  had 
indeed  tried  to  root  out  the  lovely  pests,  but 
little  did  our  Caleb  care!  If  he  had  ever  trod 
his  ancestral  acres  either  for  pleasure  or 
profit  he  might  in  time  have  "stomped  out" 
the  whiteweed,  so  the  neighbors  said,  for  he 
had  the  family  foot,  the  size  of  an  anvil;  but 

1 02 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

he  much  preferred  a  sedentary  life,  and  the 
whiteweed  went  on  seeding  itself  from  year 
to  year. 

Caleb  was  tall,  loose-jointed,  and  black 
as  a  thunder-cloud  —  the  swarthy  skin,  like 
the  big  foot,  having  been  bequeathed  to  him 
by  the  original  Caleb,  whose  long-legged, 
shaggy-haired  sons  had  been  known  as 
"Caleb's  colts."  Tall  and  black,  all  of  them, 
the  "colts,"  so  black  that  the  village  wits 
said  the  Kimball  children  must  have  eaten 
smut  and  soot  and  drunk  cinder  tea  during 
the  years  their  parents  were  clearing  the 
land.  Tall  and  black  also  were  all  the  Kim- 
ball  daughters,  so  tall  it  was  their  boast  to 
be  able  to  look  out  over  the  tops  of  the  win- 
dow curtains;  and  proud  enough  of  their 
height  to  cry  with  rage  when  any  rival  Ama- 
zon came  into  the  neighborhood. 

Whatever  else  they  were  or  were  not,  how- 
ever, the  Kimballs  had  always  been  indus- 
trious and  frugal.  It  had  remained  for  the 
last  scion  of  the  old  stock  to  furnish  a  by- 
word for  slackness.  In  a  village  where  sto- 

103 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


ries  of  outlandish,  ungodly,  or  supernatural 
laziness  were  sacredly  preserved  from  year 
to  year,  Caleb  KimbalPs  indolence  easily 
took  the  palm.  His  hay  commonly  went  to 
seed  in  the  field.  His  cow  yielded  her  morn- 
ing's milk  about  noon,  and  her  evening 
"mess"  was  taken  from  her  (when  she  was 
lucky)  by  the  light  of  a  lantern.  He  was  a 
bachelor  of  forty-five,  dwelt  alone,  had  no 
visitors  and  made  his  living,  such  as  it  was, 
off  the  farm,  with  the  help  of  a  rack-o'-bones 
horse.  He  had  fifty  acres  of  timber-land,  and 
when  his  easy-going  methods  of  farming 
found  him  without  money  he  simply  sold  a 
few  trees. 

The  house  and  barn  were  gradually  falling 
into  ruins;  the  farm  implements  stood  in  the 
yard  all  winter,  and  the  sleigh  all  summer. 
The  gate  flapped  on  its  hinges,  the  fences 
were  broken  down,  and  the  stone  walls  were 
full  of  gaps.  His  pipe,  and  a  snarling  rough- 
haired  dog,  were  his  only  companions.  Hour 
after  hour  he  sat  on  the  side  steps  looking 
across  the  sloping  meadows  that  separated 

104 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

his  place  from  Amanda  Dalton's;  hour  after 
hour  he  puffed  his  pipe  and  gazed  on  the 
distant  hills  and  the  sparkling  river;  gazed 
and  gazed  —  whether  he  saw  anything  or 
thought  anything,  remembered  anything,  or 
even  dreamed  anything,  nobody  could  guess, 
not  even  Amanda  Dalton,  who  was  good 
at  guessing,  having  very  few  other  mental 
recreations  to  keep  her  mother-wit  alive. 

Caleb  Kimball,  as  seen  on  his  doorstep 
from  Amanda  Dalton's  sink  window,  was 
but  a  speck,  to  be  sure,  but  he  was  her  near- 
est neighbor;  if  a  person  whose  threshold 
you  never  cross,  and  who  never  crosses 
yours,  can  be  called  a  neighbor.  There  were 
seldom  or  never  meetings  or  greetings  be- 
tween the  two,  yet  each  unconsciously  was 
very  much  alive  to  the  existence  of  the  other. 
In  days  or  evenings  of  solitude  one  can  make 
neighbors  of  very  curious  things. 

Tire  smoke  of  Amanda's  morning  fire 
cried  "Shame"  to  Caleb's  when  it  issued 
languidly  from  his  kitchen  chimney  an  hour 
later.  Amanda's  smoke  was  like  herself, 

105 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


and  betokened  the  brisk  fire  she  would  be 
likely  to  build;  Caleb's  showed  wet  wood, 
poor  draught,  a  fallen  brick  in  the  chimney. 

Later  on  in  the  morning  Caleb's  dog  would 
sometimes  saunter  down  the  road  and  have  a 
brief  conversation  with  Amanda's  cat.  They 
were  neither  friends  nor  enemies,  but  merely 
enlivened  a  deadly,  dull  existence  with  a  few 
casual  remarks  on  current  topics. 

Once  Caleb  had  possessed  a  flock  of  hens, 
but  in  the  course  of  a  few  years  they  had 
dwindled  to  one  lonely  rooster,  who  stalked 
gloomily  through  the  wilderness  of  mis- 
placed objects  in  the  Kimball  yard,  and 
wondered  why  he  had  been  born. 

Amanda  pitied  him,  and  flung  him  a 
surreptitious  handful  of  corn  from  her  apron 
pocket  when  she  met  him  walking  dejectedly 
in  the  road  halfway  between  the  two  houses. 
So  encouraged  he  extended  his  rambles,  and 
one  afternoon  Amanda,  looking  out  of  her 
window,  saw  him  stop  at  her  gate  and  hold 
a  tete-a-tete  with  one  of  her  Plymouth  Rock 
hens.  The  interview  was  brief  but  effective. 

106 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

In  a  twinkling  he  had  told  her  of  his  miserable 
life  and  his  abject  need  of  sympathy. 

"There  are  times,"  he  said,  "when,  I  give 
you  my  word,  I  would  rather  be  stewed  for 
dinner  than  lead  my  present  existence!  It 
is  weak  for  me  to  trouble  you  with  my  diffi- 
culties, but  you  have  always  understood  me 
from  the  first. " 

"Say  no  more,"  she  replied.  "I  am  a 
woman  and  pity  is  akin  to  love.  The  fowls 
of  Amanda  Dalton's  flock  do  not  need  me 
as  you  do.  Eleven  eggs  a  day  are  laid  here 
regularly,  and  I  will  go  where  my  egg  will  be 
a  daily  source  of  pleasure  and  profit." 

"The  coop  is  draughty  and  the  corn 
scarce, "  confessed  the  rooster,  doing  his  best 
to  be  noble. 

"I  am  of  the  sex  created  especially  to 
supply  companionship,"  returned  the  hen, 
"therefore  I  will  accompany  you,  regardless 
of  personal  inconvenience. " 

Amanda  saw  the  departure  of  the  eloping 
couple  and  pursued  them  not. 

"Land   sakes!"   she  exclaimed,   "if  any 

107 


LADIES-  IN- WAITING 


male  thing  hereabouts  has  sprawl  enough 
to  go  courtin'  I'm  willin'  to  encourage  'em. 
She'll  miss  her  clean  house  and  good  food,  I 
guess,  but  I  ain't  sure.  She's  ' women-folks' 
after  all,  and  I  should  n't  wonder  a  mite  but 
she'd  take  real  comfort  in  makin'  things 
pleasanter  up  there  for  that  pindlin',  God- 
forsaken old  rooster!  She'll  have  her  hands 
full,  but  there,  I  know  what  't  is  to  get 
along  with  empty  ones!" 

There  were  not  many  such  romances  or 
comedies  as  these  to  enliven  Amanda's 
mornings.  Then  afternoon  would  slip  into 
twilight,  darkness  would  creep  over  the 
landscape,  and  Amanda's  light  —  clear, 
steady,  bright,  serene  —  would  gleam  from 
its  place  on  the  sink  shelf  through  the  kitch- 
en window,  over  the  meadow,  "up  to  Kim- 
ball's."  It  was  such  a  light  as  would  stream 
from  a  well-trimmed  lamp  with  a  crystal 
clean  chimney,  but  it  met  with  small  re- 
sponse from  its  neighbor's  light  during  many 
months  of  the  year.  In  late  autumn  and  win- 
ter there  would  be  a  fugitive  candle  gleam  up- 

108 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

stairs  in  the  Kimball  house,  and  on  stormy 
evenings  a  dull,  smoky  light  in  the  living- 
room. 

From  the  illumination  in  the  Dalton  sink 
window,  Caleb  thought  Amanda  sat  in  the 
kitchen  evenings,  but  she  did  n't.  She  said 
she  kept  the  second  light  there  because  she 
could  afford  it,  and  because  the  cat  liked  it. 
The  cat  enjoyed  the  black  haircloth  sofa  in 
the  sitting-room,  afternoons,  but  she  greatly 
preferred  the  kitchen  for  evening  use;  it 
made  a  change,  and  the  high-backed  cush- 
ioned rocker  was  then  vacant.  Amanda  had 
nobody  to  consider  but  the  cat,  so  she  nat- 
urally deferred  to  her  in  every  possible 
way.  It  was  bad  for  the  cat's  character,  but 
at  least  it  kept  Amanda  from  committing 
suicide,  so  what  would  you?  Here  was  a 
woman  of  insistent,  unflagging,  unending 
activity.  Amanda  Dalton  had  energy  enough 
to  attend  to  a  husband  and  six  children  — 
cook,  wash,  iron,  churn,  sew,  nurse  —  and 
she  lived  alone  with  a  cat.  The  village  was 
a  mile,  and  her  nearest  female  neighbor,  the 

109 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Widow  Thatcher,  a  half-mile  away.  She  had 
buried  her  only  sister  in  Lewiston  years  be- 
fore, and  she  had  not  a  relation  in  the  world. 
All  her  irrepressible  zeal  went  into  the  con- 
duct of  her  house  and  plot  of  ground.  Day 
after  day,  week  after  week,  year  after  year, 
the  established  routine  was  carried  through. 
First  the  washing  of  the  breakfast  dishes 
and  the  putting  to  rights  of  the  kitchen, 
which  was  radiantly  clean  before  she  began 
upon  it.  Next  her  bedroom;  the  stirring-up 
of  the  cornhusk  mattress,  the  shaking  of 
the  bed  of  live  geese  feathers,  the  replacing 
of  cotton  sheets,  homespun  blankets,  and 
blue-and-white  counterpane.  Next  came  the 
sitting-room  with  its  tall,  red,  flag-bottomed 
chairs,  its  two-leaved  table,  its  light  stand 
that  held  the  Bible  and  work-basket  and 
lamp.  The  chest  of  drawers  and  tall  clock 
were  piously  dusted,  and  the  frames  of  the 
Family  Register,  "Napoleon  Crossing  the 
Alps,"  and  "Maidens  Welcoming  Wash- 
ington in  the  Streets  of  Alexandria,"  were 
carefully  wiped  off.  Once  a  week  the  parlor 

no 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

was  cleaned,  the  tarlatan  was  lifted  from  the 
two  plaster  Samuels  on  the  mantelpiece, 
their  kneeling  forms  were  cleaned  with  a 
damp  cloth,  the  tarlatan  replaced,  and  the 
parlor  closed  again  reverently.  There  was 
kindling  to  chop,  wood  to  bring  in,  the 
modest  cooking,  washing,  ironing,  and  sew- 
ing to  do,  the  flower-beds  to  weed,  and  the 
little  vegetable  garden  to  keep  in  order. 

But  Amanda  had  a  quick  foot,  a  neat 
hand,  a  light  touch,  and  a  peculiar  faculty 
of  "turning  off"  work  so  that  it  simply  would 
not  last  through  the  day.  Why  did  she 
never  think  of  going  to  the  nearest  city  and 
linking  her  powers  with  those  of  some  one 
who  would  put  them  to  larger  uses?  Simply 
because  no  one  ever  did  that  sort  of  thing 
in  Bonny  Eagle  in  those  days.  Girls  crowded 
out  of  home  by  poverty  sought  employment 
here  and  there,  but  that  a  woman  of  forty, 
with  a  good  home  and  ten  acres  of  land  — 
to  say  nothing  of  coupon  bonds  that  yielded 
a  hundred  dollars  a  year  in  cash  —  that  such 
a  one  should  seek  a  larger  field  in  a  strange 

ill 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


place,  would  have  been  thought  flying  in  the 
face  of  Providence,  as  well  as  custom. 

Outside  Bonny  Eagle,  in  the  roar  and  din 
and  clamor  of  cities,  were  all  sorts  of  wrongs 
that  needed  righting,  wounds  that  cried  out 
to  be  healed.  There  were  motherless  chil- 
dren, there  were  helpless  sufferers  moaning 
for  the  sight  of  a  green  field,  but  the  super- 
fluous females  of  Amanda  Dalton's  day  had 
not  awakened  to  any  sense  of  responsibility 
with  regard  to  their  unknown  brothers  and 
sisters. 

Amanda  was  a  large-hearted  woman.  She 
would  have  shared  her  soda  biscuit,  her  bean 
soup,  her  dandelion  greens,  her  hogshead 
cheese,  her  boiled  dinner,  her  custard  pie, 
with  any  hungry  mortal,  but  no  one  in 
Bonny  Eagle  needed  bite  nor  sup.  Therefore 
she  feather-stitched  her  dish-towels,  piled 
her  kindling  in  a  "wheel  pattern"  in  the 
shed,  named  her  hens  and  made  friends  of 
them,  put  fourteen  tucks  in  her  unbleached 
cotton  petticoats,  and  fried  a  pancake  every 
Saturday  for  her  cat. 

112 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

"  It 's  either  that  or  blow  your  brains  out, 
if  you've  got  a  busy  mind!"  she  said  grimly 
to  Susan  Benson,  her  best  friend,  who  was 
passing  a  Saturday  afternoon  with  her.  It 
was  chilly  and  they  liked  the  cheerful 
warmth  of  the  Saturday  fire  that  was  bak- 
ing the  beans  and  steaming  the  brown  bread. 

Susan  unrolled  her  patchwork  and,  giving 
a  flip  to  the  cat  with  her  thimble  finger, 
settled  herself  comfortably  in  the  kitchen 
rocker. 

The  cat  leaped  down  and  stalked  into  the 
next  room  with  an  air  of  offended  majesty, 
as  much  as  to  say:  "Of  all  the  manners  I 
ever  saw,  that  woman  has  the  worst!  She 
contrives  to  pass  by  three  empty  chairs  and 
choose  the  one  I  chance  to  be  occupying!" 

"You  would  n't  be  so  lonesome  if  you 
could  see  a  bit  of  life  from  your  house, 
Mandy,"  said  Mrs.  Benson.  "William  an' 
I  were  sayin'  last  night  you  'd  ought  to 
move  into  the  village  winters,  though  noth- 
in'  could  be  handsomer  than  the  view  from 
your  sink  window  this  minute.  Daisies, 

113 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


daisies  everywhere!  How  do  you  manage 
to  keep  'em  out  o'  your  place,  Mandy,  when 
they're  so  thick  on  Caleb  KimbalPs?" 

"I  just  root  an'  root,  an'  keep  on  rootin'," 
Amanda  responded  cheerfully,  "though  I 
don't  take  a  mite  o'  pride  out  of  it,  for  the 
better  my  place  looks  the  worse  his  does,  by 
comparison." 

"It  is  a  sight!"  said  Mrs.  Benson,  stand- 
ing for  a  moment  by  the  sink  and  looking  up 
to  Kimball's. 

"I  went  up  there  one  night  after  dark, 
when  I  knew  Caleb  'd  gone  to  Hixam,  an'  I 
patched  up  some  o'  the  holes  in  his  stone 
wall,  thinkin'  his  whiteweed  seeds  would 
n't  blow  through  quite  so  thick!"  —  and 
Amanda  joined  Mrs.  Benson  at  the  window. 
"I  'd  'a'  done  a  day's  work  on  his  side  o'  the 
wall  as  lief  as  not,  only  I  knew  folks  would 
talk  if  they  saw  me." 

"Land,  no,  they  would  n't,  Mandy.  Ev- 
erybody knows  you  would  n't  take  him  if 
he  was  the  last  man  on  earth;  an'  as  for 
Caleb,  I  guess  he  would  n't  marry  any 

114 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

woman  above  ground,  not  if  she  was  a 
seraphim.  I  used  to  think  he'd  spunk  up 
some  time  or  other,  when  he  got  over  his 
mother's  death;  but  it's  too  late  now,  I'm 
afraid." 

"  Caleb  set  great  store  by  his  mother; 
that's  one  good  thing  about  him,"  said 
Amanda. 

"He  did  for  certain,"  agreed  Mrs.  Ben- 
son. "If  that  girl  he  was  engaged  to  had  n't 
'a'  spoken  disrespectful  to  her  in  his  hearin' 
there 'd  'a'  been  a  wife  an'  children  up  there 
now  an'  the  place  would  'a'  looked  difFrent." 

"  Not  so  very  diff  rent!  He  did  n't  lose 
much  in  Eliza  Johnson.  I  guess  he  knows 
that  by  now!"  remarked  Amanda  serenely; 
"though  I  s'pose 't  was  quarrelin'  with  her 
that  set  him  runnin'  down  hill,  all  the 


same." 


"  I  never  thought  he  cared  anything  about 
Eliza.  She  was  determined  to  have  him,  an' 
he  was  too  lazy  to  say  no,  but  you  see  in  the 
end  she  only  got  her  labor  for  her  pains. 
The  Kimball  boys  never  had  any  luck  with 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


their  love  affairs.  When  Caleb  an'  his  mother 
was  left  alone,  she  was  terrible  anxious  for 
him  to  marry.  She  was  allers  findin'  girls  for 
him,  but  part  of  'em  would  n't  look  at  him, 
and  he  would  n't  make  up  to  any  of  'em." 

"I  was  livin'  in  Lewiston  those  years," 
said  Amanda. 

"  I  remember  you  was.  Well,  when  old 
Mrs.  Kimball  broke  her  arm,  Charles,  the 
youngest  son,  that  was  a  stage-driver,  de- 
termined he'd  get  somebody  for  Caleb,  for 
his  own  wife  would  n't  lift  her  finger  to  help 
'bout  the  house.  He  saw  a  girl  up  to  Steep 
Falls  that  he  kind  o'  liked  the  looks  of,  an' 
he  offered  her  a  ride  down  to  his  mother's 
to  spend  the  day,  thinkin'  if  the  family  liked 
her  she  might  do  for  Caleb.  However,  her 
eyes  was  weak  an'  she  did  n't  know  how  to 
milk,  so  they  thought  she  'd  better  go  home 
by  train.  That  would  'a'  been  fair  enough 
for  both  parties,  but  when  Charles  drove  her 
to  the  station  he  charged  her  fifteen  cents  an' 
it  made  an  awful  sight  o'  talk.  She  had  a  hot 
temper,  an'  she  kind  o'  resented  it!" 

116 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

"I  dare  say  't  wa'n't  so,"  commented 
Amanda;  "  but  everybody 's  dead  that  could 
deny  it,  except  Caleb,  and  he  would  n't 
take  the  trouble." 

"  It 's  one  of  the  days  when  he 's  real  drove, 
ain't  it?"  asked  Susan  sarcastically,  as  she 
looked  across  the  field  to  the  wood-pile 
where  a  gray-shirted  figure  sat  motionless. 
"If  ever  a  man  needed  a  wife  to  patch  the 
seat  of  his  pants,  it 's  Caleb  Kimball!  I  guess 
it's  the  only  part  of  his  clothes  he  ever 
wears  out.  He  wa'n't  like  that  before  his 
mother  died;  the  wheels  seemed  to  stop  in 
him  then  an'  there.  He  was  queer  an'  strange 
an'  shy,  but  I  never  used  to  think  he'd 
develop  into  a  reg'lar  hermit.  She  'd  turn  in 
her  grave,  Mis'  Kimball  would,  to  see  him 
look  as  he  does.  I  don't  s'pose  he  gets  any 
proper  nourishment.  The  smartest  man  in 
the  world  won't  take  the  trouble  to  make 
pie  for  himself,  yet  he'll  eat  it 's  long  's  he 
can  stan'  up!  Caleb's  mother  was  a  great 
pie-baker.  I  can  see  her  now,  shovelin'  'em 
in  an'  out  o'  the  oven  Saturdays,  with 

117 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


her  three  great  black  lanky  boys  standin' 
roun'  waitin'  for  'em  to  cool  off.  —  'Only 
one,  mother?'  Caleb  used  to  say,  kind  o' 
wheedlin'ly,  while  she  laughed  up  at  him 
leanin'  against  the  door-frame.  —  '  What 's 
one  blueb'ry  pie  amongst  me?'  " 

"He  must  'a'  had  some  fun  in  him  once," 
smiled  Amanda. 

"  They  say  women-folks  ain't  got  no  sense 
o' humor, "  remarked  Mrs.  Benson,  with  a 
twitch  of  her  thread.  "I  notice  the  men  that 
live  without  'em  don't  seem  to  have  any!  We 
may  not  amount  to  much,  but  we  're  some- 
thin'  to  laugh  at" 

"Why  don't  you  bake  him  a  pie  now 
an'  then,  an'  send  it  up,  Susan?"  asked 
Amanda. 

"Well,  there,  I  don't  feel  I  hardly  know 
him  well  enough,  though  William  does.  I 
dare  say  he  would  n't  like  it,  an'  he'd  never 
think  to  return  the  plate,  so  far  away.  — 
Besides,  there  never  is  an  extry  pie  in  a 
house  where  there's  a  man  an'  three  boys; 
which  reminds  me  I've  got  to  go  home  an' 

118 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

make  one  for  breakfast,  with  nothin'  to 
make  it  out  of." 

"I  could  lend  you  a  handful  o'  dried 
plums." 

"Thank  you;  I'll  take  'em  an'  much 
obliged.  I  declare  it  seems  to  me,  now  the 
rhubarb  Js  'bout  gone,  as  if  the  apples  on  the 
trees  never  would  fill  out  enough  to  drop 
off.  There  does  come  a  time  in  the  early 
summer,  after  you're  sick  of  mince,  'n' 
squash,  'n'  punkin,  'n'  cranberry,  'n'  rhu- 
barb, 'n'  custard,  'n'  't  ain't  time  for  cur- 
rant, or  green  apple,  or  strawb'ry,  or 
raspb'ry,  or  blackb'ry  —  there  does  come  a 
time  when  it  seems  as  if  Providence  might 
'a'  had  a  little  more  ingenuity  in  plannin' 
pie-fillin ' !  —  You  might  bake  a  pie  for 
Caleb  now  an'  then  yourself,  Mandy;  you're 


so  near." 


"Mrs.  Thatcher  lives  half  a  mile  away," 
replied  Amanda;  "but  I  could  n't  carry 
Caleb  Kimball  a  pie  without  her  knowin'  it 
an'  makin'  remarks.  I  'd  bake  one  an'  willin' 
if  William  'd  take  it  to  him;  but  there, 

119 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


't  would  only  make  him  want  another.  He 's 
made  his  bed  an'  he 's  got  to  lie  on  it." 

"He  lays  on  his  bed  sure  enough,  an'  most 
o'  the  time  probably  —  but  do  you  believe 
he  ever  makes  it?" 

Amanda  shuddered.  "  I  don't  know,  Su- 
san; it's  one  o'  the  things  that  haunts  me; 
whether  he  makes  it  or  whether  he  don't." 

"Do  you  ever  see  any  wash  hung  out?" 
Mrs.  Benson's  needle  stopped  in  midair 
while  she  waited  for  Amanda's  answer. 

"  Ye-es;  now  an'  then." 

"What  kind?" 

"Sheets;  once  a  gray  blanket;  under- 
clothes; but  naturally  I  don't  look  when 
they  're  hung  out.  He  generally  puts  'em 
on  the  grass,  anyway." 

"Well,  it's  a  sin  for  a  man  to  live  so  in  a 
Christian  country,  an'  the  kindest  thing  to 
say  about  him  is  that  he 's  crazy.  Some  o' 
the  men  folks  over  to  the  store  declare  he  is 
crazy;  but  William  declares  he  ain't.  He 
says  he 's  asleep.  William  kind  o'  likes  him. 
Does  he  ever  pass  the  time  o'  day  with  you?" 
1 20 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

"Hardly  ever.  I  meet  him  once  or  twice 
a  year,  maybe,  in  the  road.  He  bows  when 
I  go  past  on  an  errand  an'  holds  on  to  his 
dog  when  he  tries  to  run  out  an'  bite  me." 

" That's  real  kind  o'  gentlemanly,"  ob- 
served Susan. 

"I  never  thought  of  it  that  way,"  said 
Amanda  absently;  "but  perhaps  it  is.  All  I 
can  say  is,  Caleb  Kimball  's  a  regular  thorn 
in  my  flesh.  I  can't  do  anything  for  him,  an' 
I  can't  forget  him,  right  under  foot  as  he 
is  —  his  land  joinin'  mine.  Mornin',  noon, 
an'  night  for  years  I've  wanted  to  get  into 
that  man's  house  an'  make  it  decent  for  him; 
wanted  to  milk  the  cow  the  right  time  o'  day; 
feed  the  horse;  weed  the  garden;  scrub  the 
floor;  wash  the  windows;  black  the  stove." 

"How  you  do  go  on,  Mandy!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Benson.  "What  difference  does  it  make 
to  you  how  dirty  he  is,  so  long 's  you  're 
clean?" 

"It  does  make  a  difference,  an'  it  always 
will.  I  hate  to  see  the  daisies  growin'  so 
thick,  knowin'  how  he  needs  hay.  I  want  to 

121 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


root  Jem  out  same's  I  did  mine,  after  I'd 
been  away  three  years  in  Lewiston.  I  hate 
to  take  my  pot  o'  beans  out  o'  the  oven 
Saturday  nights  an'  know  he  ain't  had 
gumption  enough  to  get  himself  a  Christian 
meal.  Livin'  alone 's  I  do,  Susan,  things 
'bulk  up'  in  my  mind  bigger 'n  they'd 
ought  to." 

"They  do  so,"  agreed  Susan;  "an'  you 
must  n't  let  'em.  You  must  come  over  to 
our  house  oftener.  You  know  William  loves 
to  have  you,  an'  so  do  the  boys.  The  Bible 
may  insinuate  we  are  our  brother's  keeper, 
but  we  can't  none  of  us  help  it  if  he  won't 
be  kept!  —  There,  I  must  be  gettin'  home. 
IVe  had  considerable  many  reminders  the 
last  half-hour  that  it 's  about  time !  It 's  none 
o'  my  business,  Mandy,  but  you  do  spoil  that 
cat,  an'  the  time  's  not  far  off  when  he  won't 
be  a  mite  o'  comfort  to  you.  Of  course,  I  'm 
too  intimate  here  to  take  offense,  but  if  the 
minister  should  happen  to  set  in  this  chair 
when  he  calls,  an'  see  that  cat  promenade 
round  an'  round  the  rockers  an'  then  rustle 
122 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

off  into  -the  settin'-room  as  mad  as  Cuffy, 
he'd  certainly  take  notice  an'  think  he 
wa'n't  a  welcome  visitor." 

"Like  mistress,  like  cat!"  sighed  Amanda. 
"Tristram  an'  I  get  awful  set  in  our  ways." 

"Kind  o'  queer,  Mandy,  namin'  a  cat  for 
your  grandfather,"  Mrs.  Benson  observed 
anxiously  as  she  opened  the  door.  "William 
an'  me  don't  want  you  to  get  queer." 

"I  ain't  got  anything  better  'n  a  cat  to 
name  for  grandfather, "  said  poor  Amanda, 
in  a  tone  that  set  her  friend  Susan  thinking 
as  she  walked  homeward. 

The  summer  wore  along  and  there  came 
a  certain  Tuesday  different  from  all  the 
other  Tuesdays  in  that  year,  or  in  all  the 
forty  years  that  had  gone  before  —  a  Tues- 
day when  the  Kimball  side  door  was  not 
opened  in  the  morning.  No  smoke  issued 
from  the  chimney  all  day.  The  rooster  and 
his  kidnapped  hen  flew  up  from  the  steps 
and  pecked  at  the  door  panels  vigorously. 
Seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  came,  then  eight, 
and  no  light  to  be  seen  anywhere.  The  dog 

123 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


howled;  the  horse  neighed;  the  cow  lowed 
ominously  in  the  closed  barn.  At  nine  o'clock 
Amanda  took  a  lantern  and  sped  across  the 
field,  found  a  pail  in  the  shed,  slipped  into  the 
barn,  milked  the  cow,  gave  the  beasts  hay 
and  water,  and  leaving  the  pail  of  milk  on  the 
steps,  went  quietly  home  again,  anxious 
lest  she  had  done  too  much,  anxious  also 
lest  she  had  not  done  enough. 

Next  morning  she  stationed  herself  at  her 
kitchen  window  and  took  account  of  her 
signs.  The  milk-pail  was  overturned  on  the 
steps,  the  rooster  and  hen  perching  on  the 
rim,  but  there  was  no  smoke  coming  from 
the  chimney.  She  thought  quickly  as  she 
did  everything  else.  She  waited  long  enough 
to  make  a  cup  of  coffee,  then  she  slipped  out 
of  her  door  and  up  to  Kimball's.  Her  apron 
was  full  of  kindling,  and  on  her  arm  she 
carried  a  basket  with  a  package  of  herbs,  a 
tiny  bottle  of  brandy,  one  of  cologne,  some 
arrowroot  and  matches,  a  cake  of  hard  soap 
and  a  clean  towel,  bones  for  the  dog  and 
corn  for  the  hen. 

124 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

Caleb's  door  was  unlocked.  The  dog 
came  out  of  the  shed  evincing  no  desire  to 
bark  or  bite.  The  kitchen  was  empty,  and 
—  she  thanked  the  Lord  silently,  as  she 
gave  a  hasty  glance  about  —  not  as  dread- 
ful as  she  had  anticipated.  Untidy  beyond 
words,  bare,  dreary,  cheerless,  but  not 
repulsively  dirty.  She  stole  softly  through 
the  lower  part  of  the  house,  and  then  with 
a  beating  heart  went  up  the  uncarpeted 
stairs.  At  the  head  was  an  open  door  that 
showed  her  all  she  expected  and  feared  to 
find.  The  sun  streamed  in  at  the  dusty,  un- 
curtained window  over  the  motionless  body 
of  Caleb  Kimball,  who  lay  in  a  strange,  deep 
sleep,  unconscious,  on  the  bed.  His  hair  was 
raven  black  against  the  pillow  and  the  lashes 
on  his  cheeks  looked  more  'n  a  yard  long, 
Amanda  told  Susan  Benson.  (She  afterward 
confessed  that  this  was  a  slight  exaggera- 
tion due  to  extreme  excitement.)  She  spoke 
his  name  three  times,  but  he  did  not  stir. 
She  must  get  the  doctor  and  send  for  Wil- 
liam Benson,  that  was  clear;  but  first  she 

125 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


must  try  her  hand  at  improving  the  imme- 
diate situation. 

Stealing  downstairs  she  tied  on  her  apron 
and  lighted  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove,  with 
the  view  of  making  things  respectable  be- 
fore gossipy  neighbors  came  in.  Her  sister 
used  to  say  that  the  minute  Amanda  tied 
on  her  apron  things  began  to  move  and  take 
a  turn  for  the  better,  and  it  was  so  now.  She 
poured  a  few  drops  of  cologne  into  a  basin 
of  water,  and  putting  the  towel  over  her  arm 
went  upstairs  to  Caleb's  bedside. 

"I've  done  him  wrong,"  she  thought  re- 
morsefully as  she  noted  his  decent  night- 
clothing  and  bedding.  "He  ain't  lost  his 
self-respect  in  all  these  years,  and  every  soul 
in  Bonny  Eagle  thought  he  was  living  like 
an  animal!" 

She  bathed  his  face  and  throat  and  hands, 
then  moistened  and  smoothed  his  hair  with- 
out provoking  a  movement  or  a  sound.  He 
seemed  in  a  profound  stupor,  but  there  was 
no  stertorous  breathing.  Straightening  the 
bedclothes  and  giving  a  hasty  wipe  to  the 

126 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

tops  of  the  pine  bureau  and  table,  she  opened 
the  window  and  closed  the  blinds.  At  this 
moment  she  spied  one  of  the  Thatcher  boys 
going  along  the  road,  and  ran  down  to  the 
gate  to  ask  him  to  send  William  Benson  and 
the  doctor  as  soon  as  possible. 

"Tell  them  Miss  Dalton  says  please  to 
come  quick;  Caleb  KimbalPs  very  sick," 
she  said. 

"Don't  you  need  mother,  too?"  asked 
the  boy.  "  She  's  wanted  to  git  into  his  house 
for  years,  and  she  'd  do  most  anything  for  the 
chance." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Amanda  pitilessly. 
"I  can  do  everything  for  the  present,  and 
Mr.  Benson  will  probably  want  his  wife,  if 
anybody. " 

"All  right,"  said  the  boy  as  he  started 
off  on  a  dog-trot.  News  was  rare  in  Bonny 
Eagle,  and  Caleb  Kimball  was  a  distinguished 
and  interesting  figure  in  village  gossip. 

Amanda  Dalton  had  never  had  to  hurry 
in  her  life.  That  was  one  of  her  crosses,  lor 
there  probably  never  was  a  woman  who 

127 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


could  do  more  in  less  time.  It  was  an  hour 
and  a  half  before  William  Benson  came, 
and  in  those  ninety  minutes  she  had  swept 
the  kitchen  and  poured  a  pail  or  two  of  hot 
soap-suds  over  the  floor,  that  may  have 
felt  a  mop,  but  certainly  had  not  known  a 
scrubbing-brush  for  years.  She  tore  down  the 
fly-specked,  tattered,  buff  shades,  and  washed 
the  three  windows;  blackened  the  stove; 
fed  the  dog  and  horse;  milked  the  cow; 
strained  the  milk  and  carried  it  down  cellar; 
making  three  trips  upstairs  in  the  meantime 
to  find  no  change  in'  the  patient.  His  lids 
stayed  down  as  though  they  were  weighted 
with  lead,  his  long  arms  lay  motionless  on 
the  counterpane. 

Amanda's  blood  coursed  through  her 
veins  like  lightning.  Here  was  work  to  her 
hand;  blessed,  healing  work  for  days,  per- 
haps weeks  to  come.  In  these  first  moments 
of  emotional  excitement  I  fear  she  hoped  it 
would  be  a  long  case  of  helpless  invalidism, 
during  which  it  would  be  her  Christian 
duty  to  clean  the  lower  part  of  the  house 

128 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

and  perhaps  make  some  impression  on  the 
shed;  but  this  tempting  thought  was  quickly 
banished  as  she  reflected  that  Caleb  Kim- 
ball  was  a  bachelor,  and  the  Widow  Thatcher 
the  person  marked  out  by  a  just  but  unsym- 
pathetic Providence  for  sick-nurse  and  house- 
keeper. 

"She  shan't  come!"  thought  Amanda 
passionately.  "I'll  make  the  doctor  ask  me 
to  take  charge.  William  Benson  shall  stay 
here  nights  an'  Susan  will  run  in  now  an' 
then  day  times,  or  I'll  get  little  Abby  Thatcher 
to  do  the  rough  work  an'  keep  me  company; 
then  her  mother  won't  make  talk." 

"  I  don't  know  exactly  what 's  the  matter 
with  the  man,"  confessed  the  doctor,  when 
he  came.  "There's  a  mark  and  a  swelling  on 
the  back  of  his  head  as  if  he  might  have 
fallen  somewhere.  He  has  n't  got  any  pulse 
and  he's  all  skin  and  bone.  He's  starved  out, 
I  guess,  and  his  machinery  has  just  stopped. 
He  wants  nursing  and  feeding  and  all  the 
things  a  woman  can  do  for  him.  The  Lord 
never  intended  men-folks  to  live  alone!" 

129 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"If  they  ain't  got  wit  enough  to  find  that 
out  for  themselves  it  ain't  likely  any  woman  '11 
take  the  trouble  to  tell  'em!"  exclaimed 
Amanda  with  some  spirit. 

"Don't  get  stuffy,  Amanda!  Just  be  a 
good  Christian  and  take  hold  here  for  a  few 
days  till  we  see  whether  we've  got  to  have 
a  nurse  from  Portland.  Man's  extremity  is 
God's  opportunity;  maybe  Caleb  '11  come 
to  his  senses  before  he  gets  over  this  sick- 


ness." 


"I  wonder  if  he  ever  had  any  senses?" 
said  Amanda. 

"Plenty,"  the  doctor  answered  as  he  pre- 
pared the  medicines;  "but  he  has  n't  used 
them  for  twenty  years.  —  I'll  come  back  in 
an  hour  and  fetch  Bill  Benson  with  me.Then 
I  '11  stay  till  I  can  bring  Caleb  back  to  con- 
sciousness. We  shall  have  to  get  him  down- 
stairs as  soon  as  he  can  be  moved;  it  will  be 
much  easier  to  take  care  of  him  there." 

The  details  of  Caleb  KimbalPs  illness 
would  be  such  as  fill  a  nurse's  bedside  rec- 

130 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

ord  book.  The  mainspring  of  life  had  been 
snapped  and  the  machinery  refused  to  move 
for  a  long  time.  When  he  recovered  con- 
sciousness his  solemn  black  eyes  followed 
Amanda  Dalton's  movements  as  if  fascinated, 
but  he  spoke  no  word  save  a  faltering  phrase 
or  two  at  night  to  William  Benson. 

Meantime  much  had  been  happening  be- 
low-stairs,  where  Amanda  Dalton  reigned 
supreme,  with  Susan  Benson  and  Abby 
Thatcher  taking  turns  in  housework  or 
nursing.  William  Benson  was  a  painter  by 
trade,  and  Amanda's  ingenious  idea  was  to 
persuade  him  to  paint  and  paper  the  Kim- 
ball  kitchen  before  Caleb  was  moved  down- 
stairs. 

This  struck  William  as  a  most  extraordi- 
nary and  unnecessary  performance. 

"  Israel  in  Egypt!"  he  exclaimed.  "What 's 
the  matter  with  you  women  ?  I  never  heard 
o'  such  goin's-on  in  my  life!  I  might  lay  abed 
a  thousand  years  an'  nobody  'd  paint  my 
premises.  Let  Caleb  git  his  strength  back 
an'  then  use  a  little  elbow  grease  on  his  own 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


house  —  you  can't  teach  an  old  dog  new 
tricks,  Susan!" 

"Tends  on  how  old  the  dog  is,  an'  what 
kind  o'  tricks  you  want  to  teach  him,"  Su- 
san replied.  "  It  'd  be  a  queer  dog  that  would 
n't  take  to  a  clean  kennel,  or  three  good 
meals  a  day  'stead  o'  starvation  vittles. 
Amanda  says  it  may  be  a  kind  of  a  turnin'- 
point  in  Caleb's  life,  an'  she  thinks  we'd 
ought  to  encourage  him  a  little." 

"Ain't  I  encouragin'  him  by  sleepin'  on 
his  settin'-room  lounge  every  night  an'  givin' 
him  medicine  every  two  hours  by  the  alarm 
clock?  I've  got  my  own  day's  work  to  do; 
when  would  I  paint  his  kitchen,  I'd  like 
to  know?" 

"  We  thought  probably  you  'd  like  to  do 
it  nights,"  suggested  his  wife  timidly. 

"Saul  in  Tarsus!  Don't  that  beat  the 
devil?"  ejaculated  William.  "Caleb  Kim- 
ball  ain't  done  a  good  day's  work  for  years, 
an'  I'm  to  set  up  nights  paintin'  his  kitch- 
en!" Nevertheless  the  magnificent  imperti- 
nence of  the  idea  so  paralyzed  his  will  that 

132 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

he  ended  by  putting  on  twelve  single  rolls 
of  fawn-colored  paper  and  painting  the  wood- 
work yellow  to  harmonize,  working  from 
eight  to  twelve  several  nights  and  swearing 
freely  at  his  own  foolishness. 

By  this  time  Amanda  had  made  the 
downstairs  chamber  all  tidy  and  comfortable 
for  the  patient.  She  had  contributed  a  win- 
dow shade  and  dimity  curtains;  Susan  a 
braided  rug  and  a  chair  cushion.  The  cham- 
ber (the  one  in  which  Caleb's  mother  had 
died)  opened  from  the  kitchen  and  com- 
manded an  enticing  view  of  the  fresh  yellow 
walls  and  shining  cook-stove.  On  the  day 
before  Caleb's  removal  Amanda  sat  on  the 
foot  of  the  bed  and  looked  through  the  door- 
way with  silent  joy,  going  to  and  fro  to 
move  a  bright  tin  dipper  into  plainer  view 
or  retire  a  drying  dish-cloth  to  greater 
privacy. 

Even  Abby  Thatcher  was  by  this  time  a 
trifle  exhilarated.  She  did  not  understand 
the  situation  very  well,  being  of  a  sternly 
practical  nature  herself,  but  she  caught  the 

133 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


enthusiasm  of  the  two  women  and  scrubbed 
the  kitchen  floor  faithfully  every  morning 
in  order  to  remove  the  stains  of  years  of 
neglect. 

"You  wouldn't  think  your  old  hen'd  be 
such  a  fool,  Miss  Dalton,"  she  said;  "but 
I  kind  o'  surmised  the  reason  she's  been 
missin',  an'  I  found  her  to-day  in  a  corner 
o*  the  haymow  sittin'  on  five  eggs.  Now, 
wouldn't  you  s'pose  at  her  age  she'd  know 
better  than  to  try  an'  raise  chickens  in 
October?" 

"I'm  afraid  they'll  die  if  it  should  be  a 
cold  fall,  with  nobody  to  look  after  'em;  but 
maybe  I  can  take  'em  home  to  my  shed  an' 
lend  Mr.  Kimball  another  hen."  (Amanda's 
tone  was  motherly.)  "  I  never  like  to  break 
up  a  hen's  nest,  somehow;  it  seems  as  if 
they  must  have  feelin's  like  other  folks." 

"I'd  take  her  off  quicker 'n  scat,  an'  keep 
takin'  her  off,  till  she  got  some  sense,"  said 
Abby,  with  the  Chinese  cruelty  of  sixteen. 

"Well,  you  let  her  be  till  Mr.  Kimball  gets 
well  enough  to  ask;  an'  I  think,  Abby,  you 

134 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

might  clean  up  the  dooryard  just  a  little 
mite  this  mornin',"  suggested  Amanda. 
"If  you  could  straighten  up  the  fence  an' 
find  a  couple  of  old  hinges  to  hang  the  gate 
with,  it  would  kind  o'  put  new  heart  into 
Mr.  Kimball  when  he  's  sittin'  up  an'  look- 
in'  out  the  window." 

"Why  did  n't  he  put  heart  into  hisself  by 
hangin'  his  own  gate,  before  he  took  sick?" 
grumbled  Abby,  reducing  Amanda  to  mo- 
mentary silence  by  her  pitiless  logic. 

"Why  didn't  he,  indeed?"  echoed  her 
heart  gloomily,  receiving  nothing  in  the  way 
of  answer  from  her  limited  experience  of  men. 

Caleb  had  spoken  more  frequently  the 
last  few  days.  When  by  the  combined  ex- 
ertions of  the  Bensons  and  the  doctor  he 
had  been  brought  down  into  his  mother's 
old  room,  Amanda  closed  the  kitchen  door, 
thinking  one  experience  at  a  time  was 
enough  for  a  man  in  his  weak  and  ex- 
hausted condition.  William  Benson  could  n't 
see  any  sense  in  this  precaution,  but  he  never 
did  see  much  sense  in  what  women-folks 

135 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


did.  He  wanted  to  show  Caleb  the  new  paint 
and  paper  immediately,  and  remark  cas- 
ually that  he  had  done  all  the  work  while  he 
was  "night-nursin'." 

The  next  morning  Amanda  had  seized  a 
good  opportunity  to  open  the  door  between 
the  two  rooms,  straightway  retiring  to  the 
side  entry  to  await  developments.  In  a  few 
moments  she  heard  Caleb  moving,  and  going 
in  found  him  half  sitting  up  in  bed,  leaning 
on  his  elbow. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  kitchen?" 
he  asked  feebly,  staring  with  wide-open  eyes 
at  the  unaccustomed  prospect. 

"Only  fresh  paint  an'  paper;  that's  Wil- 
liam's work." 

"O  God,  I  ain't  worth  it!  I  ain't  worth 
it!"  he  groaned  as  he  hid  his  face  in  the 
pillow. 

"Have  you  been  here  all  the  time?"  he 
asked  Amanda  when  she  brought  him  his 
gruel  later  in  the  day. 

"  Yes,  off  an'  on,  when  I  could  get  away 
from  my  own  work." 

136 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

"Who  found  me?" 

"I  did.  I  knew  by  the  looks  somethin'  was 
wrong  up  here." 

"Somethin'  wrong,  sure  enough,  an'  al- 
ways was!"  Amanda  heard  him  mutter  as 
he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

The  next  day  he  opened  his  eyes  suddenly 
as  she  was  passing  through  the  room. 

"Did  you  make  that  pie  William  Benson 
brought  me  last  month?" 

"What  made  you  think  I  did?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  it  looked,  an'  it 
tasted  like  one  o'  yours,"  he  said,  closing 
his  eyes  again.  "If  you  know  a  woman,  you 
can  tell  her  pie,  somehow!" 

When  had  Caleb  Kimball  ever  tasted  any 
of  her  cooking?  A  mysterious  remark,  but 
everything  he  said  sounded  a  trifle  light- 
headed. 

His  questions  came  back  to  her  when  she 
was  waiting  for  William  Benson  at  twilight 
that  same  day. 

Caleb  had  been  sleeping  quietly  for  an 
hour  or  more.  Amanda  was  standing  at  the 

137 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


stove  stirring  his  arrowroot  gruel.  The 
kitchen  was  still. 

A  smothered  "miaow"  and  the  scratch- 
ing of  claws  on  wood  arrested  her  attention, 
and  she  went  hurriedly  to  the  door. 

"Tristram  Dalton;  what  are  you  up  here 
for,  away  from  your  own  home?"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

Tristram  vouchsafed  no  explanation  of 
his  appearance,  but  his  demeanor  spoke 
louder  than  words  to  Amanda's  guilty  con- 
science, as  he  walked  in. 

"No  shelter  for  me  but  the  shed  these 
days!"  he  seemed  to  say.  "Instead  of  well- 
served  meals,  a  cup  of  milk  set  here  or  there ! " 

He  made  the  circuit  of  the  kitchen  dis- 
contentedly and  finding  nothing  to  his  taste 
went  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  after 
walking  over  the  full  length  of  Caleb's 
prostrate  form  curled  himself  up  in  a  hollow 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"I  Ve  neglected  him!"  thought  Amanda; 
"but  his  turn '11  come  again  soon  enough," 
and  she  bent  her  eyes  on  the  gruel. 

138 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

The  blue  bowl  sat  in  the  pan  of  hot  water 
on  the  stove,  and  she  stirred  and  stirred, 
slowly,  regularly,  continuously,  in  order 
that  the  arrowroot  should  be  of  a  velvety 
smoothness. 

The  days  were  drawing  in,  and  the  Oc- 
tober sun  was  setting  very  yellow,  sending  a 
flood  of  light  over  her  head  and  shoulders. 
She  wore  her  afternoon  dress  of  alpaca,  with 
a  worked  muslin  collar  and  cuffs  and  a  white 
apron  tied  round  her  trim  waist.  She  was 
one  of  your  wholesome  shining  women  and 
her  bright  brown  hair  glistened  like  satin. 

Caleb's  black  eyes  looked  yearningly  at 
her  as  she  stood  there  all  unconscious,  doing 
one  of  her  innumerable  neighborly  kind- 
nesses for  him. 

She  made  a  picture  of  sweet,  strong, 
steady  womanliness,  although  she  did  not 
know  it.  Caleb  knew  something  extraordi- 
nary was  going  on  inside  of  him,  but  under 
what  impulse  he  was  too  puzzled  and  inex- 
perienced to  say. 

"Amanda." 

139 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Amanda  turned  sharply  at  the  sound  of 
his  voice  as  she  was  lifting  the  steaming 
arrowroot  out  of  the  water. 

"Whose  cat  is  this?" 

"Mine.  —  Come  off  that  bed,  Tristram!" 

"Don't  disturb  him;  I  like  to  have  him 
there.  —  Where 's  Abby  Thatcher?" 

"She's  gone  home  on  an  errand;  she '11 
be  back  in  fifteen  minutes  now. " 

"Where's  William?" 

"It's  only  five  o'clock.  He  don't  come  till 
six.  What  can  I  get  for  you?  Have  you  had 
a  good  sleep?" 

She  set  the  gruel  on  the  back  of  the  stove 
and  went  in  to  his  bedside. 
•  "I  don't  sleep  much;  I  just  lie  an'  think 
.  .  .  Amanda,  .  .  .  now,  they  're  all  away, 
...  if  I  get  over  this  spell,  ...  an'  take 
a  year  to  straighten  up  an'  get  hold  o'  things 
like  other  folks,  .  .  .  do  you  think  .  .  .  you'd 
risk  .  .  .  marryin'  me?" 

There  was  a  moment's  dead  silence;  then 
Amanda  said,  turning  pale:  "Are  you  in 
your  right  mind,  Caleb  Kimball  ? " 

140 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

"I  am,  but  I  don't  wonder  at  your  ask- 
ing" said  the  man  humbly.  "I've  kind  o' 
fancied  you  for  years;  but  you've  always 
been  way  down  there  across  the  fields,  out 
o'  reach!" 

"I'm  too  amazed  to  think  it  out,"  fal- 
tered Amanda. 

"Don't  you  think  it  out,  for  God's  sake, 
or  you'll  never  do  it!"  He  caught  at  her 
hand  as  if  it"' had  been  a  life-line  —  her  kind, 
smooth  hand,  the  helpful  hand  with  the 
bit  of  white  cambric  bound  round  a  finger 
burned  in  his  service. 

"It  was  the  kitchen  that  put  the  courage 
into  me,"  he  went  on  feverishly.  "I  laid 
here  an'  thought:  'If  she  can  make  a  house 
look  so  different  in  a  week,  what  could  she  do 
with  a  man  ? ' ' 

"I  ain't  afraid  but  I  could,"  stammered 
Amanda;  "if  the  man  would  help  —  not 
hinder." 

"Just  try  me,  Amanda.  I  would  n't  need 
a  year  —  honest,  I  would  n't  —  I  could  show 
you  in  three  months!" 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Caleb's  strength  was  waning  now.  His 
head  dropped  forward  and  Amanda  caught 
it  on  her  breast.  She  put  one  arm  round 
his  shoulders  to  keep  him  from  falling  back, 
while  her  other  hand  supported  his  head. 
His  cheek  was  wet  and  as  she  felt  the  tears 
on  her  palm,  mutely  calling  to  her  strength, 
all  the  woman  in  her  gathered  itself  to- 
gether and  rushed  to  meet  the  man's  need. 

"If  only  .  .  .  you  could  take  me  .  .  . 
now  .  .  .  right  off,"  he  faltered;  "before 
anything  happens  ...  to  prevent?  I'd  be 
good  to  you  .  .  .  till  the  day  I  die!" 

"I  ain't  afraid  to  risk  it,  Caleb,"  said 
Amanda.  "I  '11  take  you  now  when  you  need 
me  the  most.  We'll  just  put  our  two  forlorn 
houses  together  an'  see  if  we  can  make  'em 
into  a  home!" 

Caleb  gave  one  choking  sob  of  content 
and  gratitude.  His  hand  relaxed  its  clasp  of 
Amanda's;  his  head  dropped  and  he  fainted. 

William  Benson  came  in  just  then. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  cried,  coming 
quickly  toward  the  bed.  "Has  he  had  a 

142 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

spell?  He  was  so  much  better  last  night  I 
expected  to  see  him  settin'  up!" 

"He'll  come  to  in  a  minute,"  said  Amanda. 
"Give  me  the  palm-leaf  fan.  We're  goin'to 
be  married  in  a  day  or  so,  an'  he  got  kind  of 
excited  talkin'  it  over. " 

"Moses  in  the  bulrushes!"  ejaculated 
William  Benson,  sitting  down  heavily  in 
the  nearest  chair. 

William  Benson  was  not  a  sentimental 
or  imaginative  person,  and  he  confessed  he 
could  n't  make  head  nor  tail  out  o'  the  affair; 
said  it  was  the  queerest  an'  beatin'est  wed- 
din'  that  ever  took  place  in  Bonny  Eagle; 
did  n't  know  when  they  fixed  it  up,  nor  how, 
nor  why,  if  you  come  to  that.  Amanda  Dai- 
ton  had  never  had  a  beau,  but  she  was  the 
likeliest  woman  in  the  village,  spite  o'  that, 
an'  Caleb  Kimball  was  the  onlikeliest  man. 
Amanda  was  the  smartest  woman,  an' 
Caleb  the  laziest  man.  He  kind  o'  thought 
Amanda 'd  married  Caleb  so  't  she  could 
clean  house  for  him;  but  it  seemed  an  awful 
high  price  to  pay  for  a  job.  He  guessed  she 

H3 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


could  n't  bear  to  have  his  everlastin'  white- 
weed  seedin'  itself  into  her  hayfield,  an'  the 
only  way  she  could  stop  it  was  to  marry 
him  an'  weed  it  out.  He  thought,  too,  that 
Caleb  had  kind  o'  got  int'  the  habit  o' 
watchin'  Mandy  flyin'  about  down  to  her 
place.  There's  nothin'  so  fascinatin'  as  to 
set  still  an'  see  other  folks  work.  The  critter 
was  so  busy,  an'  so  difFrent  from  him, 
mebbe  it  kind  o'  tantalized  him. 

The  Widow  Thatcher  was  convinced 
that  Mandy  must  have  gone  for  Caleb 
hammer  'n'  tongs  when  he  was  too  weak 
to  hold  out  against  her.  No  woman  in  her 
sober  senses  would  paper  a  man's  kitchen 
for  him  unless  she  intended  to  get  some  use 
out  of  it  herself.  "We  don't  know  what  the 
disciples  would  'a'  done,"  she  said,  "nor 
the  apostles,  nor  the  saints,  nor  the  arch- 
angels; we  only  know  what  women-folks 
would  'a'  done,  and  there  ain't  one  above 
ground  that  would  'a'  cleaned  Caleb  Kim- 
ball's  house  without  she  expected  to  live 


in  it." 


144 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

Susan  Benson  had  a  vague  instinct  with 
regard  to  the  real  facts  of  the  case,  but  even 
she  mustered  up  courage  to  ask  Amanda 
once  how  the  wonderful  matter  came  about. 

Amanda  looked  at  Mrs.  Benson  with 
some  embarrassment,  for  she  was  not  good 
at  confidences. 

"Susan,  you  an'  I've  been  brought  up 
together,  gone  to  school  together,  experi- 
enced religion  an'  joined  the  church  to- 
gether, an'  I  stood  up  with  you  an'  William 
when  you  was  married,  so  't  I'd  speak  out 
freer  to  you  than  I  would  to  most. " 

"I  hope  so,  I'm  sure." 

"Though  I  wouldn't  want  you  to  repeat 
anything,  Susan." 

"  'Tain't  likely  I  would,  Mandy." 

"Well,  I'd  no  sooner  got  Caleb  into  a 
clean  bed  an'  a  clean  room  an'  begun  to  feed 
him  good  food  than  I  begun  to  like  him. 
There 's  things  in  human  hearts  that  I  ain't 
wise  enough  to  explain,  Susan,  an'  I  ain't 
goin'  to  try.  Caleb  Kimball  seemed  to  me 
like  a  man  that  was  drownin',  all  because 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


there  wa'n't  anybody  near  to  put  a  hand 
under  his  chin  an'  keep  his  head  out  o'  water. 
I  did  n't  suspicion  he'd  let  me  do  it!  I  thought 
he'd  just  lie  there  an'  drown,  but  it  didn't 
turn  out  that  way.  " 

"Well,  it  does  kind  o'  seem  as  if  you'd 
gone  through  the  woods  o'  life  to  pick  up  a 
crooked  stick  at  last,"  sighed  Susan;  "though 
I  will  say,  now  I've  been  under  Caleb  Kim- 
ball's  roof,  he  's  an  awful  sight  nicer  man 
close  to  than  he  is  fur  off.  So,  take  it  all  in 
all,  life  an'  men-folks  bein'  so  uncertain,  an' 
old  age  a-creepin'  on  first  thing  you  know, 
perhaps  it  's  for  the  best;  an'  I  do  hope  you  '11 
make  out  to  be  happy,  Mandy." 

There  was  a  quiver  of  real  feeling  in  Su- 
san Benson's  voice,  though  she  made  no 
movement  to  touch  her  friend's  hand. 

"I'm  goin'  to  be  happy!"  said  Amanda 
cheerfully.  "I  always  did  like  plenty  to  do, 
an'  now  I've  got  it  for  the  rest  o'  my 


"I  only  hope  you   can   stan'   his   ways, 
Amandy,"  and  Susan's  voice  was  still  doubt- 

146 


THE  TURNING-POINT 

ful.  "That's  all  I'm  afraid  of;  that  you're 
so  diff'rent  you  can't  never  stan'  his  ways." 

"He   won't   have   so   many   ways  when 
we've  been  married  a  spell,"  said  Amanda. 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

"And  they  went  unto  Huldah  the 
Prophetess  and  communed  with  her" 

HULDAH  RUMFORD  leaned  from  her  bed- 
room window  as  she  finished  plaiting  her 
hair. 

The  crowing  of  the  white  Brahma  rooster 
had  interrupted  her  toilet  and  she  craned 
her  neck  impatiently  until  she  discovered 
that  he  had  come  from  the  hen-yard  in 
the  rear  and  established  himself  on  the 
doorsteps,  from  which  dominating  position 
he  was  announcing  his  message. 

"That  means  company  coming,  and  I 
hope  it's  true,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she 
looked  absent-mindedly  in  the  old-fashioned 
looking  glass,  with  its  picture  of  Washing- 
ton crossing  the  Delaware. 

Her  thoughts  were  evidently  wandering, 
for  she  took  her  petticoat  from  a  hook  in  the 
closet  and  pulling  it  over  her  head  found, 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


when  she  searched  for  the  buttons  in  the 
waist-band,  that  she  had  it  on  wrong-side 
out. 

"I  don't  care!"  she  exclaimed,  giving 
the  unoffending  garment  an  angry  twitch, 
"but  it  does  seem  as  if  I  was  possessed! 
I  can't  keep  my  mind  on  my  clothes  long 
enough  to  get  them  on  straight!  I  turned  my 
petticoat  yesterday,  in  spite  of  knowing  it 
brings  bad  luck,  but  to-day  I  just  won't  take 
the  chance." 

The  pink  calico  morning  dress  went 
on  without  adventure.  Then  she  carefully 
emptied  the  water  from  the  wash-bowl  into 
the  jar,  wiped  it  neatly  and  hung  the  towel 
to  dry;  straightened  the  photograph  of  her 
deceased  father  in  its  black-walnut  frame; 
shook  the  feather  bed  and  tightened  a  sag- 
ging cord  under  the  cornhusk  mattress;  took 
the  candlestick  from  the  light-stand  by  her 
bedside  and  tripped  down  the  attic  stairs 
two  at  a  time. 

Huldah  was  seventeen,  which  is  a  good 
thing;  she  was  bewitchingly  pretty,  which  is 

152 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

a  better  thing;  and  she  was  in  love,  which  is 
probably  the  best  thing  of  all,  making  due 
allowance,  of  course,  for  the  occasions  in 
which  it  is  the  worst  possible  thing  that  can 
happen  to  anybody. 

Mrs.  Rumford  was  in  the  kitchen  frying 
doughnuts  for  breakfast.  She  was  a  com- 
fortable figure  as  she  stood  over  the  brim- 
ming "spider"  with  her  three-pronged  fork 
poised  in  the  air.  She  turned  the  yellow 
rings  in  the  hissing  fat  until  they  were  nut- 
brown,  then  dropped  them  for  a  moment 
into  a  bowl  of  powdered  sugar,  from  which 
they  issued  the  most  delicious  conspirators 
against  the  human  stomach  that  can  be 
found  in  the  catalogue  of  New  England 
cookery. 

The  table  was  neatly  laid  near  the  screen 
door  that  opened  from  the  kitchen  into  the 
apple-orchard.  A  pan  of  buttermilk  bis- 
cuits was  sitting  on  the  back  of  the  stove,  and 
half  a  custard  pie,  left  from  the  previous 
night's  supper,  held  the  position  of  honor  in 
front  of  Mrs.  Rumford's  seat.  If  the  pie  had 

153 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


been  cereal,  the  doughnuts  omelette,  and  the 
saleratus  biscuits  leavened  bread,  the  plot 
and  the  course  of  this  tale  might  have  been 
different;  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

"Did  you  hear  the  Brahma  rooster  crow- 
ing on  the  doorstep,  mother?"  asked  Huldah. 

"No;  but  I  ain't  surprised,  for  I  can't  seem 
to  keep  my  dish-cloth  in  my  hand  this  morn- 
ing; if  I've  dropped  it  once  I've  dropped  it  a 
dozen  times:  there 's  company  coming,  sure." 

"That  rooster  was  crowin'  on  the  fence 
last  time  I  seen  him,  and  he 's  up  there  ag'in 
now,"  said  little  Jimmy  Rumford,  with  the 
most  offensive  skepticism. 

"What  if  he  is?"  asked  his  sister  sharply. 
"That  means  fair  weather,  and  don't  in- 
terfere with  the  sign  of  company  coming;  it 
makes  it  all  the  more  certain." 

"I  bet  he  ain't  crowin'  about  Pitt  Pack- 
ard," retorted  Jimmy,  with  a  large  joy 
illuminating  his  sunburnt  face.  "Pitt  ain't 
comin'  home  from  Moderation  this  week; 
he  's  gone  to  work  on  the  covered  bridge  up 
there." 

154 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

Huldah's  face  fell. 

"I  'd  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to 
turn  my  white  skirt  yesterday,"  she  sighed. 
"I  never  knew  it  to  fail  bringing  bad  luck.  I 
vow  I  '11  never  do  it  again." 

"That's  one  o'  the  signs  I  haven't  got  so 
much  confidence  in,"  said  Mrs.  Rumford, 
skimming  the  cream  from  a  pan  of  milk  into 
the  churn  and  putting  the  skimmed  milk 
on  the  table.  "It  don't  come  true  with  me 
more  'n  three  times  out  o'  five,  but  there 's 
others  that  never  fails.  You  jest  hold  on, 
Huldy;  the  dish-cloth  and  the  rooster  knows 
as  much  'bout  what's  goin'  to  happen  as 
your  white  petticoat  does." 

"Jest  about  as  much,"  interpolated  Jim- 
my, with  his  utterance  somewhat  choked  by 
hot  doughnut. 

Huldah  sat  down  at  the  table  and  made 
a  pretense  of  eating  something,  but  her 
heart  was  heavy  within  her. 

"What  are  you  churning  for  on  Friday, 
mother?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  I  told  you  I  am  looking  for  stran- 

155 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


gers.  It  ain't  Pitt  Packard  only  that  I  expect. 
Yesterday  mornin'  I  swept  a  black  mark  on 
the  floor;  in  the  afternoon  I  found  two  o'  the 
setting-room  chairs  standin'  back  to  back, 
and  my  right  hand  kep'  itchin'  all  day,  so't 
I  knew  I  was  goin'  to  shake  hands  with  some- 
body." 

"  You  told  me  't  was  the  left  hand,"  said 
Jimmy. 

"I  never  told  you  no  such  thing,  Jimmy 
Rumford.  Eat  your  breakfast,  and  don't 
contradict  your  mother,  or  I'll  send  you  to 
bed  quick  's  you  finish  eatin'.  Don't  you  tell 
me  what  I  said  nor  what  I  did  n't  say,  for  I 
won't  have  it.  Do  you  hear  me?" 

:<  You  did!"  responded  Jimmy  obstinately, 
preparing  to  dodge  under  the  table  in  case 
of  sudden  necessity.  "You  said  your  left 
hand  itched,  and  it  meant  money  comin', 
and  you  hoped  Rube  Hobson  was  goin'  to 
pay  you  for  the  turkey  he  bought  a  year  ago 
last  Thanksgivin'-time,  so  there!" 

"So  I  did,"  said  the  widow  reflectively. 
"Come  to  think  of  it,  so  I  did;  it  must  'a' 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

been  a  Wednesday  my  right  hand  kep' 
itchin'  so." 

"And  comp'ny  did  n't  come  a  Wednesday 
neither,"  persevered  Jimmy. 

"Jimmy  Rumford,  if  you  don't  behave 
yourself  and  speak  when  you  're  spoken  to, 
and  not  before,  you'll  git  a  trouncin'  that 
you'll  remember  consid'able  of  a  spell 
afterwards." 

"I'm  ready  for  it!"  replied  the  young- 
ster, darting  into  the  shed  and  peeping  back 
into  the  kitchen  with  a  malignant  smile.  "I 
dreamt  o'  Baldwin  apples  last  night. 

*  Dream  fruit  out  o'  season, 
That's  anger  without  reason.' 

I  knew  when  I  got  up  you  'd  get  mad  with 
me  the  first  thing  this  morning,  and  I'm  all 
prepared  —  when  you  ketch  me!" 

Both  women  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the 
boy's  flying  figure  disappeared  around  the 
corner  of  the  barn.  He  was  morally  certain 
to  be  in  mischief  wherever  he  was,  but  if 
he  was  out  of  sight  there  was  one  point 
gained  at  least. 

'57 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Why  do  you  care  so  dreadfully  whether 
Pitt  comes  or  not?"  asked  Mrs.  Rumford, 
now  that  quiet  was  restored.  "If  he  don't 
come  to-day,  then  he'll  come  a  Sunday;  and 
if  he  don't  come  this  Sunday,  then  he'll 
come  the  next  one,  so  what 's  the  odds  ?  You 
and  him  did  n't  have  a  fallin'  out  last  time 
he  was  home,  did  you?'* 

"Yes,  if  you  must  know  it,  we  did." 

"Haven't  you  got  any  common  sense, 
Huldy?  Sakes  alive!  I  thought  when  I  mar- 
ried Daniel  Rumford,  if  I  could  stand  his 
temper  it  was  nobody's  business  but  my 
own.  I  did  n't  foresee  that  he  had  so  much 
he  could  keep  plenty  for  his  own  use,  and 
then  have  a  lot  left  to  hand  down  to  his 
children,  so  't  I  should  have  to  live  in  the 
house  with  it  to  the  day  of  my  death!  Seems 
to  me  if  I  was  a  girl  and  lived  in  a  village 
where  men-folks  is  as  scarce  as  they  be  here, 
I  'd  be  tumble  careful  to  keep  holt  of  a  beau 
after  I'd  got  him.  What  in  the  name  o' 
goodness  did  you  quarrel  about?" 

Huldah  got  up  from  the  table  and  car- 

158 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

ried  her  plate  and  cup  to  the  sink.  She  looked 
out  of  the  window  to  conceal  her  embar- 
rassment, and  busied  herself  with  prepa- 
rations for  the  dish-washing,  so  that  she 
could  talk  with  greater  freedom. 

"We've  had  words  before  this,  plenty 
of  times,  but  they  did  n't  amount  to  any- 
thing. Pitt 's  good,  and  he  's  handsome,  and 
he  's  smart;  but  he  's  awful  dictatorial  and 
fault-finding,  and  I  just  ain't  goin'  to  eat 
too  much  humble-pie  before  I'm  married, 
for  fear  I  won't  have  anything  else  to  eat 
afterwards,  and  it  ain't  very  fattening  for 
a  steady  diet.  And  if  there  ever  was  a  hate- 
ful old  woman  in  the  world  it 's  his  step- 
mother. I  Ve  heard  of  her  saying  mean 
things  about  our  family  every  once  in  a 
while,  but  I  would  n't  tell  you  for  fear  you'd 
flare  up  and  say  Pitt  could  n't  come  to  see 
me.  She's  tried  to  set  him  against  me  ever 
since  we  began  to  keep  company  together. 
She's  never  quite  managed  to  do  it,  but 
she's  succeeded  well  enough  to  keep  me  in 
continual  trouble." 

159 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"What's  she  got  to  say?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Rumford  hotly.  "  She  never  had  a  silk  dress 
in  the  world,  till  Eben  Packard  married 
her,  and  everybody  knows  her  father  was  a 
horse-doctor  and  mine  was  a  reg'lar  one!" 

"She  did  n't  say  anything  about  fathers, 
but  she  did  tell  Almira  Berry  that  no  mem- 
ber of  the  church  in  good  standing  could 
believe  in  signs  as  you  did  and  have  hope 
of  salvation.  She  said  I  was  a  chip  of  the 
old  block,  and  had  been  raised  like  a  heathen. 
It  seems  when  I  was  over  there  on  Sunday 
I  refused  to  stand  up  and  have  my  height 
measured  against  the  wall,  and  I  told  'em 
if  you  measured  heights  on  Sunday  you'd 
like  as  not  die  before  the  year  was  out.  I 
did  n't  know  then  she  had  such  a  preju- 
dice against  signs,  but  since  that  time  I've 
dragged  'em  in  every  chance  I  got,  just  to 
spite  her." 

"More  fool  you!"  said  her  mother,  be- 
ginning to  move  the  dasher  of  the  churn 
up  and  down  with  a  steady  motion.  "You 
might  have  waited  until  she  was  your 

160 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

mother-in-law  before  you  began  to  spite  her. 
The  first  thing  you  know  you  won't  get  any 
mother-in-law." 

"That's  the  only  thing  that  would  con- 
sole me  for  losing  Pitt!"  exclaimed  Huldah. 
"If  I  can't  marry  him  I  don't  have  to  live 
with  her,  that's  one  comfort!  The  last  thing 
she  did  was  to  tell  Aunt  Hitty  Tarbox  she  'd 
as  lief  have  Pitt  bring  one  of  the  original 
Salem  witches  into  the  house  as  one  of  the 
Daniel  Rumford  tribe." 

"The  land  sakes!"  ejaculated  the  widow, 
giving  a  desperate  and  impassioned  plunge 
to  the  churn-dasher.  "Now  I  know  why  I 
dreamt  of  snakes  and  muddy  water  the 
night  before  she  come  here  to  the  Ladies' 
Aid  Club.  Well,  she 's  seventy,  and  she 
can't  live  forever;  she  can't  take  Eben 
Packard's  money  into  the  next  world  with 
her,  either,  and  I  guess  if  she  could  't  would 
melt  as  soon  as  it  got  there." 

Huldah  persevered  with  her  confession, 
dropping  an  occasional  tear  in  the  dish- 
water. 

161 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Last  time  Pitt  came  here  he  said  he 
should  have  three  or  four  days'  vacation 
the  1 2th  of  August,  and  he  thought  we'd 
better  get  married  then,  if  't  was  agreeable 
to  me.  I  was  kind  of  shy,  and  the  almanac 
was  hanging  alongside  of  the  table,  so  I  took 
it  up  and  looked  to  see  what  day  of  the  week 
the  1 2th  fell  on.  'Oh,  Pitt,'  I  said,  'we  can't 
be  married  on  Friday;  it 's  dreadful  unlucky. ' 
He  began  to  scold  then,  and  said  I  didn't 
care  anything  about  him  if  I  would  n't 
marry  him  when  it  was  most  convenient; 
and  I  said  I  would  if  't  was  any  day  but 
Friday;  and  he  said  that  was  all  moonshine, 
and  nobody  but  foolish  old  women  believed 
in  such  nonsense;  and  I  said  there  was  n't  a 
girl  in  town  that  would  marry  him  on  a  Fri- 
day; and  he  said  there  was;  and  I  asked  him 
to  come  right  out  and  tell  who  he  meant; 
and  he  said  he  did  n't  mean  anybody  in 
particular;  and  I  said  he  did;  and  he  said, 
well,  Jennie  Perkins  would,  on  Friday  or 
Sunday  or  wash-day  or  any  other  day;  and  I 
said  if  I  was  a  man  I  vow  I  would  n't  take  a 

162 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

girl  that  was  so  anxious  as  all  that;  and  he 
said  he'd  rather  take  one  that  was  a  little 
too  anxious  than  one  that  was  n't  anxious 
enough;  and  so  we  had  it,  back  and  forth, 
till  I  got  so  mad  I  could  n't  see  the  almanac. 
Then,  just  to  show  him  I  had  more  good 
reasons  than  one,  I  said,  *  Besides,  if  we 
should  be  married  on  a  Friday  we  'd  have  to 
go  away  on  a  Saturday,  and  ten  to  one 
't  would  rain  on  our  wedding-trip. ' 

1  Why  would  it  rain  Saturday  more  than 
any  other  day?'  said  he;  and  then  I  mis- 
trusted I  was  getting  into  fresh  trouble,  but 
I  was  too  mad  to  back  out,  and  said  I, 
'They  say  it  rains  more  Saturdays  in  the 
year  than  any  other  day';  and  he  got  red 
in  the  face  and  said,  l  Where  'd  you  get 
that  silly  notion?'  Then  I  said  it  wasn't 
any  silly  notion,  it  was  Gospel  truth,  and 
anybody  that  took  notice  of  anything  knew 
it  was  so;  and  he  said  he  never  heard  of  it 
in  his  life;  and  I  said  there  was  considerable 
many  things  that  he  'd  never  heard  of  that 
he'd  be  all  the  better  for  knowing;  and  he 

163 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


said  he  was  like  Josh  Billings,  he'd  rather 
know  a  few  things  well  than  know  so  many 
things  that  wa'n't  so." 

''  You  might  have  told  him  how  we  com- 
pared notes  about  rainy  days  at  the  Aid 
Club,"  said  her  mother.  "You  remember 
Hannah  Sophia  Palmer  had  n't  noticed  it, 
but  the  minute  you  mentioned  it  she  re- 
membered how,  when  she  was  a  child,  she 
was  always  worryin'  for  fear  she  could  n't 
wear  her  new  hat  a  Sunday,  and  it  must  have 
been  because  it  was  threatening  weather  a 
Saturday,  and  she  was  afraid  it  would  keep 
up  for  Sunday.  And  the  widow  Buzzell  said 
she  always  picked  up  her  apples  for  pie- 
baking  on  Friday,  it  was  so  apt  to  be  dull 
or  wet  on  a  Saturday." 

"  I  told  him  all  of  that,"  continued  Hul- 
dah,  "  and  how  old  Mrs.  Bascom  said  they 
had  a  literary  society  over  to  Edgewood  that 
used  to  meet  twice  a  month  on  Saturday 
afternoons,  and  it  rained  or  snowed  so  often 
they  had  to  change  their  meetings  to  a 
Wednesday. 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

"  Then  the  first  thing  I  knew  Pitt  stood 
up  so  straight  he  looked  more  than  ten 
feet  tall,  and  says  he,  'If  you  don't  marry 
me  a  Friday,  Huldah  Rumford,  you  don't 
marry  me  at  all.  You're  nothing  but  a  mass 
of  superstition,  and  if  you  're  so  scared  for 
fear  it  will  rain  on  your  wedding-bonnet  a 
Saturday,  you  can  stay  home  under  cover  the 
rest  of  your  life,  for  all  I  care.  I  '11  wash  the 
top  buggy,  put  the  umbrella  under  the  seat, 
and  take  Jennie  Perkins;  she  won't  be 
afraid  of  a  wetting  so  long  as  she  gets  it  in 
good  company.' 

"'You're  right,'  I  said,  'she  won't,  es- 
pecially if  the  company 's  a  man,  for  she  '11 
be  so  dumfounded  at  getting  one  of  'em  to 
sit  beside  her  she  won't  notice  if  it  rains 
pitchforks,  and  so  far  as  I'm  concerned  she's 
welcome  to  my  leavings. '  Then  he  went  out 
and  slammed  the  kitchen  door  after  him, 
but  not  so  quick  that  I  did  n't  get  a  good 
slam  on  the  sitting-room  door  first. " 

"He'll  come  back,"  churned  Mrs.  Rum- 
ford  philosophically.  "Jennie  Perkins  has 

165 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


got  a  pug  nose,  and  a  good-sized  mole  on 
one  side  of  it.  A  mole  on  the  nose  is  a  sure 
sign  of  bad  luck  in  love-affairs,  particularly 
if  it 's  well  to  one  side.  He'll  come  back." 

But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  days  went  by, 
the  maple-trees  turned  red,  and  Pitt  Pack- 
ard did  not  come  back  to  the  Rumford  farm. 
His  comings  and  his  goings  were  all  known 
to  Huldah.  She  knew  that  he  took  Jennie 
Perkins  to  the  Sunday-School  picnic,  and 
escorted  her  home  from  evening  meetings. 
She  knew  that  old  Mrs.  Packard  had  given 
her  a  garnet  pin,  a  glass  handkerchief-box, 
and  a  wreath  of  hair  flowers  made  from  the 
intertwined  tresses  of  the  Packards  and  the 
Doolittles.  If  these  symptoms  could  by  any 
possibility  be  misinterpreted,  there  were  va- 
rious other  details  of  an  alarmingly  corrob- 
orative character,  culminating  in  the  mar- 
riage of  Pitt  to  Jennie  on  a  certain  Friday 
evening  at  eight  o'clock.  He  not  only  married 
her  on  a  Friday,  but  he  drove  her  to  Portland 
on  a  Saturday  morning;  and  the  Fates,  who 

166 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

are  never  above  taking  a  little  extra  trouble 
when  they  are  dealing  out  misery,  decreed 
that  it  should  be  one  of  the  freshest,  brightest, 
most  golden  mornings  of  the  early  autumn. 

Pitt  thought  Portland  preferable  to  Bid- 
deford  or  Saco  as  a  place  to  pass  the  brief 
honeymoon,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  be- 
cause the  road  thither  lay  past  the  Rum- 
ford  house.  But  the  Rumfords*  blinds  were 
tightly  closed  on  the  eventful  Saturday,  and 
an  unnecessarily  large  placard  hung  osten- 
tatiously on  the  front  gate,  announcing  to 
passers-by  that  the  family  had  gone  to  Old 
Orchard  Beach,  and  would  be  home  at  sun- 
down. This  was  a  bitter  blow  to  the  bride- 
groom, for  he  had  put  down  the  back  of  the 
buggy  with  the  intention  of  kissing  the  bride 
within  full  view  of  the  Rumford  windows. 
When  he  found  it  was  of  no  use,  he  aban- 
doned the  idea,  as  the  operation  never  af- 
forded him  any  especial  pleasure.  He  asked 
Mrs.  Pitt  if  she  preferred  to  go  to  the  beach 
for  her  trip,  but  she  decidedly  favored  the 
gayeties  of  a  metropolis. 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


The  excitement  of  passing  the  Rumford 
house  having  faded,  Jennie's  nose  became 
so  oppressive  to  Pitt  that  he  finally  changed 
places  with  her,  explaining  that  he  generally 
drove  on  the  left  side.  He  was  more  tranquil 
then,  for  her  left  profile  was  more  pleasing, 
though  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  help 
remembering  Huldah's  sweet  outlines,  the 
dimple  in  her  chin,  her  kissable  mouth,  her 
delicate  ear.  Why,  oh,  why,  had  she  in- 
herited her  father's  temper  and  her  mother's 
gift  of  prophecy,  to  say  nothing  of  her  grand- 
father's obstinacy  and  her  grandmother's 
nimble  tongue!  All  at  once  it  dawned  upon 
him  that  he  might  have  jilted  Huldah  with- 
out marrying  Jennie.  It  would,  it  is  true, 
have  been  only  a  half  revenge;  but  his  appe- 
tite for  revenge  was  so  dulled  by  satisfac- 
tion he  thought  he  could  have  been  per- 
fectly comfortable  with  half  the  quantity, 
even  if  Huldah  were  not  quite  so  uncom- 
fortable as  he  wished  her  to  be.  He  dis- 
missed these  base  and  disloyal  sentiments, 
however,  as  bravely  as  he  could,  and  kissed 

168 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

Jennie  twice,  in  a  little  stretch  of  wood  road 
that  fell  in  opportunely  with  his  mood  of 
silent  penitence. 

About  two  o'clock  clouds  began  to  gather 
in  the  sky,  and  there  was  a  muttering  of 
thunder.  Pitt  endured  all  the  signs  of  a 
shower  with  such  fortitude  as  he  could 
command,  and  did  not  put  up  the  buggy-top 
or  unstrap  the  boot  until  the  rain  came  down 
in  good  earnest. 

"Who'd  have  suspicioned  this  kind  of 
weather?"  he  growled  as  he  got  the  last 
strap  into  place  and  shook  the  water  from 
his  new  straw  hat. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  it,  but  I  did  n't  like  to 
speak  out,"  said  Jennie  primly;  "they  say 
it  gen 'ally  does  rain  Saturdays." 

Meanwhile  Huldah  lay  in  the  spare  room 
at  the  back  of  the  house  and  sobbed  quietly. 
Mrs.  Rumford  and  the  skeptical  Jimmy 
had  gone  to  Old  Orchard,  and  Huldah  had 
slipped  out  of  the  front  door,  tacked  the  ob- 
trusive placard  on  the  gate-post,  and  closed 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


all  the  blinds  in  honor  of  the  buried  hopes 
that  lay  like  a  dead  weight  at  the  bottom  of 
her  heart. 

She  was  a  silly  little  thing,  a  vain  little 
thing,  and  a  spitfire  to  boot,  but  that  did 
not  prevent  her  suffering  an  appreciable 
amount,  all  that  her  nature  would  allow; 
and  if  it  was  not  as  much  as  a  larger  nature 
would  have  suffered,  neither  had  she  much 
philosophy  or  strength  to  bear  it.  The  bur- 
den is  fitted  to  the  back  as  often  as  the  back 
to  the  burden. 

She  frequently  declared  to  herself  after- 
wards that  she  should  have  had  "a  fit  of 
sickness"  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  thunder- 
storm that  came  up  on  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  Saturday  afternoon.  She  had 
waked  that  morning  with  a  dull  pain  in  her 
heart  —  a  dull  pain  that  had  grown  keener 
when  she  looked  from  her  attic  window  and 
saw  the  sun  shining  clear  in  the  sky.  Not  a 
cloud  sullied  the  surface  of  that  fair  blue 
canopy  on  this  day  of  the  faithless  Pitt's 
wedding-journey.  A  sweet  wind  blew  the 

170 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

tail  feathers  of  the  golden  cock  on  the 
squire's  barn  till  he  stared  the  west  directly 
in  the  eye.  What  a  day  to  drive  to  Portland! 
She  would  have  worn  tan-colored  low  shoes 
and  brown  openwork  stockings  (what  ugly 
feet  Jennie  Perkins  had!),  a  buff  challie 
dress  with  little  brown  autumn  leaves  on  it, 
a  belt  and  sash  of  brown  watered  ribbon 
(Jennie  had  a  waist  like  a  flour-barrel!), 
and  a  sailor  hat  with  a  bunch  of  yellow  roses 
on  one  side  —  or  would  two  brown  quills, 
standing  up  coquettishly,  have  been  more 
attractive?  Then  she  would  have  taken  a 
brown  cloth  shoulder-cape,  trimmed  with 
rows  upon  rows  of  cream-colored  lace,  and  a 
brown  parasol  with  an  acorn  of  polished  wood 
on  the  handle.  Oh,  what  was  the  use  of  living 
when  she  could  wear  none  of  this  bridal 
apparel,  but  must  put  on  her  old  pink 
calico  and  go  down  to  meet  Jimmy's  broth- 
erly sneers?  Was  there  ever  such  a  cruelly 
sunshiny  morning?  A  spot  of  flickering  light 
danced  and  quivered  on  her  blue  wall- 
paper until  she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and 

171 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


pinned  a  towel  over  it.  She  sat  down  by  the 
open  window  and  leaned  dejectedly  on  the 
sill,  the  prettiest  picture  of  spiteful,  un- 
necessary misery  that  the  eye  of  mortal  man 
ever  rested  upon,  with  her  bright  hair 
tumbling  over  her  unbleached  nightgown, 
and  her  little  bare  feet  curled  about  the 
chair-rounds  like  those  of  a  disconsolate 
child.  Nobody  could  have  approved  of,  or 
even  sympathized  with,  so  trivial  a  crea- 
ture, but  plenty  of  people  would  have  been 
so  sorry  for  her  that  they  would  have  taken 
sensible,  conscientious,  unattractive  Jennie 
Perkins  out  of  Pitt  Packard's  buggy  and 
substituted  the  heedless  little  Huldah,  just 
for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  smile  and 
blush.  There  was,  however,  no  guardian 
imp  to  look  after  her  ruined  fortunes,  and 
she  went  downstairs  as  usual  to  help  about 
the  breakfast,  wondering  to  herself  if  there 
were  any  tragedies  in  life  too  terrible  to  be 
coexistent  with  three  meals  a  day  and  the 
dishes  washed  after  each  one  of  them. 
An  infant  hope  stirred  in  her  heart  when 

172 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

she  saw  a  red  sparkle  here  and  there  on  the 
sooty  bottom  of  the  tea-kettle,  and  it  grew 
a  little  when  her  mother  remarked  that  the 
dish-water  boiled  away  so  fast  and  the  cows 
lay  down  so  much  that  she  believed  it  would 
rain  the  next  day.  When,  that  same  after- 
noon, the  welcome  shower  came  with  scarce 
ten  minutes'  warning,  Huldah  could  hardly 
believe  her  eyes  and  ears.  She  jumped  from 
her  couch  of  anguish  and  remorse  like  an  ex- 
cited kitten,  darted  out  of  the  house  unmind- 
ful of  the  lightning,  drove  the  Jersey  calf 
under  cover,  chased  the  chickens  into  the 
coop,  bolstered  up  the  tomatoes  so  that  the 
wind  and  rain  would  not  blow  the  fruit  from 
the  heavily  laden  plants,  opened  the  blinds 
and  closed  the  windows. 

"It  comes  from  the  east,"  she  cried,  danc- 
ing up  and  down  in  a  glow  of  childish  glee  — 
"it  comes  from  the  east,  and  it's  blowing  in 
on  Jennie's  side  of  the  buggy!"  She  did  not 
know  that  Pitt  had  changed  places  with  his 
bride,  and  that  his  broad  shoulder  was  shield- 
ing her  from  the  "angry  airt." 

173 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Then  she  flew  into  the  kitchen  and  pinned 
up  her  blown  hair  in  front  of  the  cracked 
looking-glass,  thinking  with  sympathetic 
tenderness  how  pretty  she  looked,  with  her 
crown  of  chestnut  tendrils  tightened  by  the 
dampness,  her  round  young  cheeks  crim- 
soned by  the  wind,  and  her  still  tearful  eyes 
brightened  by  unchristian  joy.  She  remem- 
bered with  naughty  satisfaction  how  rain 
invariably  straightened  Jennie  Perkins's 
frizzes,  and  was  glad,  glad  that  it  did.  Her 
angry  passions  were  so  beautifying  that  the 
radiant  vision  in  the  glass  almost  dazzled 
her.  It  made  her  very  sorry  for  Pitt  too.  She 
hated  to  think  that  his  ill-temper  and  stub- 
born pride  and  obstinacy  had  lost  him  such 
a  lovely  creature  as  herself,  and  had  forced 
him  to  waste  his  charms  on  so  unapprecia- 
tive  and  plain  a  person  as  Jennie  Perkins. 
She  remembered  that  Pitt  had  asked  her  to 
marry  him  coming  home  from  the  fair  in  a 
rainstorm.  If  he  meant  anything  he  said  on 
that  occasion,  he  must  be  suffering  pangs  of 
regret  to-day.  Oh,  how  good,  how  sweet,  how 

174 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

kind  of  it  to  rain  and  support  her  in  what 
she  had  prophesied  of  Saturday  weather! 

All  at  once  a  healing  thought  popped  into 
her  head.  "I  shall  not  live  many  years,"  she 
reflected  —  "  not  after  losing  Pitt,  and  having 
his  mother  crow  over  me,  and  that  hateful 
Jennie  Perkins,  having  the  family  hair  wreath 
hanging  over  her  sofa,  and  my  wedding  ring 
on  her  hand;  but  so  long  as  I  live  I  will  keep 
account  of  rainy  Saturdays,  and  find  a  way 
to  send  the  record  to  Pitt  every  New  Year's 
Day  just  to  prove  that  I  was  right.  Then  I 
shall  die  young,  and  perhaps  he  will  plant 
something  on  my  grave,  and  water  it  with 
his  tears;  and  perhaps  he  will  put  up  a  mar- 
ble gravestone  over  me,  unbeknownst  to 
Jennie,  and  have  an  appropriate  verse  of 
Scripture  carved  on  it,  something  like: 

SHE      OPENETH      HER     MOUTH     WITH      WISDOM; 
AND  IN  HER  TONGUE  IS  THE  LAW  OF  KINDNESS 

I  can  see  it  as  plain  as  if  it  was  written.  I  hope 
they  will  make  it  come  out  even  on  the  edges, 
and  that  he  will  think  to  have  a  white  marble 

'75 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


dove  perched  on  the  top,  unless  it  costs  too 
much." 

The  years  went  on.  Huldah  surprised 
everybody  by  going  away  from  home  to  get 
an  education.  She  would  have  preferred  mar- 
riage at  that  stage  of  her  development,  but 
to  her  mind  there  was  no  one  worth  marrying 
in  Pleasant  River  save  Pitt  Packard,  and, 
failing  him,  study  would  fill  up  the  time  as 
well  as  anything  else. 

The  education  forced  a  good  many  help- 
ful ideas  into  pretty  Huldah's  somewhat 
empty  pate,  though  it  by  no  means  cured 
her  of  all  her  superstitions.  She  continued 
to  keep  a  record  of  Saturday  weather,  and 
it  proved  as  interesting  and  harmless  a 
hobby  as  the  collecting  of  china  or  postage- 
stamps. 

In  course  of  time  Pitt  Packard  moved  to 
Goshen,  Indiana,  where  he  made  a  comforta- 
ble fortune  by  the  invention  of  an  estimable 
pump,  after  which  he  was  known  by  his  full 
name  of  W.  Pitt  Fessenden  Packard.  In  course 

176 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

of  time  the  impish  and  incredulous  Jimmy 
Rumford  became  James,  and  espoused  the 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  Boston  merchant.  His 
social  advancement  was  no  surprise  to  Hul- 
dah  and  her  mother,  for,  from  the  moment 
he  had  left  home,  they  had  never  dreamed  of 
him  save  in  conjunction  with  horned  cattle, 
which  is  well  known  to  signify  unexampled 
prosperity. 

In  course  of  time,  too,  old  Mrs.  Rumford 
was  gathered  to  her  fathers  after  a  long  ill- 
ness, in  which  Huldah  nursed  her  dutifully 
and  well.  Her  death  was  not  entirely  unex- 
pected, for  Hannah  Sophia  Palmer  observed 
spots  like  iron  rust  on  her  fingers,  a  dog 
howled  every  night  under  Almira  Berry's 
window,  and  Huldah  broke  the  kitchen 
looking-glass.  No  invalid  could  hope  for  re- 
covery under  these  sinister  circumstances, 
and  Mrs.  Rumford  would  have  been  the 
last  woman  in  the  world  to  fly  in  the  face  of 
such  unmistakable  signs  of  death.  It  is  even 
rumored  that  when  she  heard  the  crash  of 
glass  in  the  kitchen  she  murmured  piously, 

177 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Now  lettest  Thou  Thy  servant  depart  in 
peace,"  and  expired  within  the  hour. 

Nineteen  summers  and  winters  had  passed 
since  Pitt  Packard  drove  "her  that  was  Jen- 
nie Perkins"  to  Portland  on  her  wedding- 
trip.  He  had  been  a  good  and  loyal  husband; 
she  had  been  a  good  and  faithful  wife;  and 
never  once  in  the  nineteen  years  had  they 
so  much  as  touched  the  hem  of  the  garment 
of  happiness. 

Huldah  the  Prophetess  lived  on  in  the  old 
house  alone.  Time  would  have  gone  slowly 
and  drearily  enough  had  it  not  been  for  her 
ruling  passion.  If  the  first  part  of  the  week 
were  fair,  she  was  hopeful  that  there  was 
greater  chance  of  rain  or  snow  by  Saturday; 
if  it  were  rainy,  she  hoped  there  would  be  a 
long  storm.  She  kept  an  elaborate  table  show- 
ing the  weather  on  every  day  of  the  year. 
Fair  Saturdays  were  printed  in  red  ink,  foul 
Saturdays  in  jet-black.  The  last  days  of  De- 
cember were  generally  spent  in  preparing  a 
succinct  statement  from  these  daily  entries. 

178 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

Then  in  the  month  of  January  a  neat  docu- 
ment, presenting  facts  and  figures,  but  no 
word  of  personal  comment  or  communica- 
tion, was  addressed  at  first  to  Mr.  W.  P. 
Packard,  and  of  late  years  to  W.  Pitt  Fes- 
senden  Packard,  and  sent  to  Goshen,  In- 
diana. 

Mr.  Packard  was  a  good  and  loyal  hus- 
band, as  I  have  said,  but  there  was  certainly 
no  disloyalty  in  the  annual  perusal  of  sta- 
tistical weather  tables.  That  these  tables, 
though  made  out  by  one  of  the  weaker  sex, 
were  accurate  and  authentic,  he  had  rea- 
son to  believe,  because  he  kept  a  rigid  ac- 
count of  the  weather  himself,  and  compared 
Huldah's  yearly  record  with  his  own.  The 
weather  in  Pleasant  River  did  not,  it  is  true, 
agree  absolutely  with  the  weather  in  Goshen, 
but  the  similarity  between  Maine  and  Indi- 
ana Saturdays  was  remarkable.  The  first  five 
years  of  Pitt's  married  life  Huldah  had  the 
advantage,  and  the  perusal  of  her  tables  af- 
forded Pitt  little  satisfaction,  since  it  proved 
that  her  superstitions  had  some  apparent 

179 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


basis  of  reason.  The  next  five  years  his  turn 
came,  and  the  fair  Saturdays  predominated. 
He  was  not  any  happier,  however,  on  the 
whole,  because,  although  he  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  right  himself,  he  lost  the  pleas- 
ure of  believing  Huldah  right.  So  time  went 
on  until  Mrs.  Pitt  died,  and  was  buried  un- 
der the  handsomest  granite  monument  that 
could  be  purchased  by  the  sale  of  pumps. 
Not  only  were  the  funeral  arrangements 
carried  out  with  the  liveliest  consideration 
for  the  departed,  but  Mr.  Packard  abstained 
from  all  gay  society  and  conducted  himself 
with  the  greatest  propriety.  Nevertheless, 
when  his  partner  and  only  confidential 
friend  extolled  Jennie's  virtues  as  wife, 
housekeeper,  companion,  and  church  mem- 
ber, he  remarked  absently:  "She  was  all 
that,  Jim,  but  somehow  I  never  liked 
her."  * 

For  two  years  after  his  bereavement  Hul- 
dah omitted  sending  her  weather  statistics 
to  Mr.  Packard,  thinking,  with  some  truth, 
that  it  might  seem  too  marked  an  atten- 

180 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

tion  from  an  attractive  Maine  spinster  to  a 
"likely"  Indiana  widower. 

Matters  were  in  this  state  when  Mr.  Pack- 
ard alighted  at  the  Edgewood  station  one 
bright  day  in  August.  He  declined  the  offer 
of  a  drive,  and  soon  found  himself  on  the 
well-remembered  road  to  Pleasant  River. 
He  had  not  trodden  that  dusty  thoroughfare 
for  many  a  year,  and  every  tree  and  shrub 
and  rock  had  a  message  for  him,  though  he 
was  a  plain,  matter-of-fact  maker  of  pumps. 
There  was  no  old  home  to  revisit,  for  his 
stepmother  had  died  long  ago,  and  Jennie 
had  conscientiously  removed  the  family 
wreath  from  the  glass  case  and  woven  some 
of  the  departed  lady's  hair  into  the  funereal 
garland.  He  walked  with  the  brisk  step  of  a 
man  who  knew  what  he  wanted,  but  there 
was  a  kind  of  breathless  suspense  in  his  man- 
ner which  showed  that  he  was  uncertain  of 
getting  it.  He  passed  the  Whippoorwill  Mill, 
the  bubbling  spring,  the  old  moss-covered 
watering-trough,  and  then  cut  across  the 

181 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


widow  BuzzelPs  field  straight  to  the  Rum- 
ford  farm.  He  kept  rehearsing  the  subject- 
matter  of  a  certain  speech  he  intended  to 
make.  He  knew  it  by  heart,  having  repeated 
it  once  a  day  for  several  months,  but  no- 
body realized  better  than  he  that  he  would 
forget  every  word  of  it  the  moment  he  saw 
Huldah  —  at  least,  if  the  Huldah  of  to-day 
were  anything  like  the  Huldah  of  the  olden 
time. 

The  house  came  in  sight.  It  used  to  be 
painted  white;  it  was  drab  now,  and  there 
was  a  bay-window  in  the  sitting-room.  There 
was  a  new  pump  in  the  old  place,  and,  happy 
omen,  he  discovered  it  was  one  of  his  own 
manufacture.  He  made  his  way  by  sheer 
force  of  habit  past  the  kitchen  windows  to 
the  side  door.  That  was  where  they  had  quar- 
reled mostly.  He  had  a  kind  of  sentiment 
about  that  side  door.  He  paused  a  moment 
to  hide  his  traveling-bag  under  the  grape- 
vine that  shaded  the  porch,  and  as  he  raised 
his  hand  to  grasp  the  knocker  the  blood 
rushed  to  his  face  and  his  heart  leaped  into 

182 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

his  throat.  Huldah  stood  near  the  window 
winding  the  old  clock.  In  her  right  hand  was 
a  "Farmer's  Almanac."  How  well  he  knew 
the  yellow  cover!  and  how  like  to  the  Huldah 
of  seventeen  was  the  Huldah  of  thirty-six! 
It  was  incredible  that  the  pangs  of  disap- 
pointed love  could  make  so  little  inroad  on 
a  woman's  charms.  Rosy  cheeks,  plump  fig- 
ure, clear  eyes,  with  a  little  more  snap  in 
them  than  was  necessary  for  connubial  com- 
fort, but  not  a  whit  too  much  for  beauty; 
brown  hair  curling  round  her  ears  and  tem- 
ples —  what  an  ornament  to  a  certain  house 
he  knew  in  Goshen,  Indiana! 

She  closed  the  wooden  door  of  the  clock, 
and,  turning,  took  a  generous  bite  from  the 
side  of  a  mellow  August  sweeting  that  lay 
on  the  table.  At  this  rather  inauspicious  mo- 
ment her  eye  caught  Pitt's.  The  sight  of  her 
old  lover  drove  all  prudence  and  reserve  from 
her  mind,  and  she  came  to  the  door  with 
such  an  intoxicating  smile  and  such  wel- 
coming hands  that  he  would  have  kissed  her 
then  and  there,  even  if  he  had  not  come  to 

183 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Pleasant  River  for  that  especial  purpose.  Of 
course  he  forgot  the  speech,  but  his  gestures 
were  convincing,  and  he  mumbled  a  suffi- 
cient number  of  extracts  from  it  to  convince 
Huldah  that  he  was  in  a  proper  frame  of 
mind  —  this  phrase  meaning  to  a  woman 
the  one  in  which  she  can  do  anything  she 
likes  with  a  man. 

They  were  too  old,  doubtless,  to  cry  and 
laugh  in  each  other's  arms,  and  ask  forgive- 
ness for  past  follies,  and  regret  the  wasted 
years,  and  be  thankful  for  present  hope  and 
life  and  love;  but  that  is  what  they  did,  old 
as  they  were. 

"I  would  n't  have  any  business  to  ask  you 
to  marry  such  a  dictatorial  fool  as  I  used  to 
be,  Huldah,"  said  Pitt;  "but  I've  got  over 
considerable  of  my  foolishness,  and  do  say 
you  will.  Say,  too,  you  won't  make  me  wait 
any  longer,  but  marry  me  Sunday  or  Mon- 
day. This  is  Thursday,  and  I  must  be  back 
in  Goshen  next  week  at  this  time.  Will  you, 
Huldah?" 

Huldah  blushed,  but  shook  her  head.  She 

184 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

looked  lovely  when  she  blushed,  and  she 
had  n't  lost  the  trick  of  it  even  at  thirty-six. 

"I  know  it 's  soon;  but  never  mind  getting 
ready.  If  you  won't  say  Monday,  make  it 
Tuesday  —  do." 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

"Wednesday,  then.  Do  say  Wednesday, 
Huldy  dear." 

The  same  smile  of  gentle  negation. 

He  dropped  her  hand  disconsolately. 

"Then  I'll  have  to  come  back  at  Christ- 
mas-time, I  s'pose.  It 's  just  my  busy  season 
now,  or  I  would  stay  right  here  on  this  door- 
step till  you  was  ready,  for  it  seems  to  me 
as  if  I  'd  been  waiting  for  you  ever  since  I 
was  born,  and  could  n't  get  you  too  soon." 

"Do  you  really  want  me  to  marry  you  so 
much,  Pitt?" 

"Never  wanted  anything  so  bad  in  my 
life." 

"Did  n't  you  wonder  I  was  n't  more  sur- 
prised to  see  you  to-day?" 

"Nothing  surprises  me  in  women-folks." 

"Well,  it  was  because  I  've  dreamed  of  a 

185 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


funeral  three  nights  running.  Do  you  know 
what  that 's  a  sign  of? " 

Pitt  never  winked  an  eyelash;  he  had 
learned  his  lesson.  With  a  sigh  of  relief  that 
his  respected  stepmother  was  out  of  hearing, 
he  responded  easily,  "I  s'pose  it's  a  sign 
somebody 's  dead  or  going  to  die." 

"No,  it  is  n't:  dreams  go  by  contraries. 
It 's  a  sign  there 's  going  to  be  a  wedding." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  know  that  much,  but  I  wish 
while  you  was  about  it  you'd  have  dreamt 
a  little  more,  and  found  out  when  the  wed- 
ding was  going  to  be." 

"I  did;  and  if  you  were  n't  the  stupidest 
man  alive  you  could  guess." 

"  I  know  I  'm  slow-witted,"  said  Pitt  meek- 
ly, for  he  was  in  a  mood  to  endure  anything, 
"but  I've  asked  you  to  have  me  on  every 
day  there  is  except  the  one  I  'm  afraid  to 


name." 


"You  know  I've  had  plenty  of  offers." 
"Unless  all  the  men-folks  are  blind,  you 
must  have  had  a  thousand,  Huldah." 
Huldah  was  distinctly  pleased.  As  a  mat- 

186 


HULDAH  THE  PROPHETESS 

ter  of  fact  she  had  had  only  five;  but  five 
offers  in  the  State  of  Maine  implies  a  super- 
human power  of  attraction  not  to  be  meas- 
ured by  the  casual  reader. 

"Are  you  sorry  you  called  me  a  mass  of 
superstition?" 

"I  wish  I'd  been  horsewhipped  where  I 
stood." 

"Very  well,  then.  The  first  time  you 
would  n't  marry  me  at  all  unless  you  could 
have  me  Friday,  and  of  course  I  would  n't 
take  you  Friday  under  those  circumstances. 
Now  you  say  you're  glad  and  willing  to 
marry  me  any  day  in  the  week,  and  so  I  '11 
choose  Friday  of  my  own  accord.  I  '11  marry 
you  to-morrow,  Pitt:  and"  —  here  she 
darted  a  roguishly  sibylline  glance  at  the 
clouds  —  "I  have  a  water-proof;  have  you 
an  umbrella  for  Saturday?" 

Pitt  took  her  at  her  word,  you  may  be 
sure,  and  married  her  the  next  day,  but  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  it  rain  on  Satur- 
day! There  never  was  such  a  storm  in  Pleas- 
ant River.  The  road  to  the  Edgewood  sta- 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


tion  was  a  raging  flood;  but  though  the  bride 
and  groom  were  drenched  to  the  skin  they 
did  n't  take  cold  —  they  were  too  happy. 
Love  within  is  a  beautiful  counter-irritant. 

Huldah  did  n't  mind  waiting  a  little  matter 
of  nineteen  years,  so  long  as  her  maiden  flag 
sank  in  a  sea  of  triumph  at  the  end;  and  it 
is  but  simple  justice  to  an  erring  but  at- 
tractive woman  to  remark  that  she  never 
said  "I  told  you  so!"  to  her  husband. 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 

LOG-BOOK  OF 
CHARLOTTE  AMALIA  CLIFFORD 

S.S.  Diana,  January  21,  1918 
On  the  way  to  the  Virgin  Islands 

I  ENGROSSED  the  above  heading  in  my  jour- 
nal shortly  after  we  left  the  dock  in  New 
York,  but  from  what  has  occurred  in  the 
past  few  days  I  think  my  occasional  entries 
in  the  log-book  are  likely  to  be  records  of 
Dorothea  Valentine's  love-affairs  as  they 
occur  to  her  day  by  day,  and  as  unluckily 
they  are  poured  into  my  ear  for  lack  of  a 
better  or  more  convenient  vessel. 

We  are  dear  friends,  Dolly  and  I.  Her 
name  is  Dorothea,  but  apparently  she  will 
have  to  grow  up  to  it,  for  at  present  every- 
body calls  her  Dolly,  Dora,  Dot,  or  Dodo, 
according  to  his  or  her  sex,  color,  or  previous 
condition  of  servitude.  Dolly  is  twenty  and 
I  am  thirty;  indeed,  her  mother  is  only  forty, 
so  that  I  am  rather  her  contemporary  than 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Dolly's,  but  friendship  is  more  a  matter  of 
sympathy  than  relative  age,  and  Mrs.  Valen- 
tine and  I  are  by  no  means  twin  souls.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  that  lady  would  never  have 
noticed  me,  the  private  secretary  of  Clive 
Winthrop,  a  government  official  in  Washing- 
ton, had  it  not  been  that,  through  him  and 
his  sister,  I  had  access  to  a  more  interesting 
group  in  society  than  had  Mrs.  Valentine,  a 
widow  of  large  means  but  a  stranger  in  the 
Capital.  Clive  Winthrop  is  a  person  of  dis- 
tinction and  influence,  and  Miss  Ellen  Win- 
throp, an  old  friend  of  my  mother's,  is  one 
of  the  most  charming  hostesses  in  Washing- 
ton, while  I  am  in  reality  nothing  but  a  paid 
scribe;  the  glad,  willing,  ardent,  but  silent 
assistant  of  a  man  who  is  serving  the  Ad- 
ministration with  all  his  heart;  but  neither 
he  nor  his  sister  will  have  it  so  considered. 
I  almost  think  that  Miss  Ellen  Winthrop, 
still  vivacious  and  vigorous  at  seventy,  is 
ready  to  give  up  to  me  her  place  as  head  of 
the  household  if  I  consent  to  say  the  word; 
but  I  am  not  sure  enough  yet  to  say  it;  and 
192 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


because  of  that  uncertainty  I  cannot  trust 
myself  in  the  daily  company  of  the  two  per- 
sons most  deeply  concerned  in  my  decision. 

A  sea  voyage  is  the  best  thing  in  the  world 
to  blow  away  doubts  or  difficulties;  it  also 
clears  the  air  so  that  one  can  see  one's  course, 
whether  it  be  toward  the  north  of  duty  or 
the  south  of  desire. 

My  work  for  a  long  time  has  been  to  re- 
port interviews,  take  stenographic  records, 
and  write  hundreds  of  letters  for  Mr.  Win- 
throp  during  the  somewhat  protracted  dis- 
cussion that  preceded  the  acquisition  of  the 
Virgin  Islands  by  the  United  States.  It  is 
odd  that  these  tasks  should  have  fallen  to 
me,  who  added  below  Clive  Winthrop's  sig- 
nature to  many  communications  the  typed 
initials  C.  A.  C.,  for  I  have  a  special  interest 
in  these  new  possessions  of  ours,  a  very  close 
and  sentimental  one,  since  I  was  born  on 
St.  Thomas,  one  of  the  Virgin  Islands,  and 
christened  Charlotte  Amalia  after  the  little 
red-roofed  town  on  the  shore  of  the  perfect 
harbor.  My  birth  in  St.  Thomas  was  entirely 

193 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


unpremeditated,  and  I  was  taken  away  as 
soon  as  my  mother  was  able  to  travel;  never- 
theless, I  have  always  longed  during  the 
twelve  years  of  my  loneliness,  without  father 
or  mother,  to  see  the  place  where  they  were 
so  happy  in  each  other  and  so  blissful  in  the 
prospect  of  my  appearance. 

I,  then,  have  a  right  to  this  particular  holi- 
day and  this  opportunity  to  decide  my  fu- 
ture. Miss  Dorothea  Valentine,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  a  wholly  unexpected,  I  will  not  say 
an  unwelcome,  companion,  although  when 
I  wish  to  be  thinking  of  my  own  problems 
she  generally  desires  to  discuss  hers,  which 
are  trivial,  though  interesting  and  unique. 

Everything  about  the  girl  piques  interest; 
her  beauty,  her  charm,  her  childlike  gayety 
and  inconsequence,  which  are  but  the  upper 
current  of  a  deeper  sea  of  sincerity  and  com- 
mon sense.  Somebody  says:  " Ladies  vary 
in  looks;  they're  like  military  flags  for  a 
funeral  or  a  celebration  —  one  day  furled, 
next  day  streaming.  Men  are  ships;  figure- 
heads, about  the  same  in  a  storm  or  a  calm, 
194 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


and  not  too  handsome,  thanks  to  the  ocean." 
The  last  phrases  are  peculiarly  true  of  Clive 
Winthrop,  who  is  sometimes  called  the  ugli- 
est man  in  Washington,  yet  who  commands 
attention  in  any  room  that  he  enters  because 
of  his  fine  physique,  his  noble  head,  and  his 
distinction  of  bearing  and  speech.  Rugged 
he  is,  "thanks  to  the  ocean,"  but  he  looks  as 
if  he  could  swim  against  the  strongest  cur- 
rent. On  the  other  hand,  it  cannot  be  said 
that  Dolly  Valentine  varies.  She  is  lovely  at 
breakfast,  lovelier  at  luncheon,  and  loveliest 
at  dinner  when  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  her 
neck  and  shoulders  is  revealed.  Only  a  tolera- 
bly generous  woman  would  suffer  herself  to 
be  in  the  almost  daily  companionship  of  such 
a  charmer,  and  that  I  am  in  that  dangerous 
juxtaposition  is  her  fault,  not  mine. 

"You  must  take  me  with  you  on  your  sea 
voyage,  Charlotte,"  she  said.  "I  must  get 
away  from  Washington  and  from  mother. 
No,  don't  raise  your  eye-brows  and  begin 
to  scold  before  you  know  what  I  mean!  I 
am  not  going  to  criticize  my  maternal  par- 

195 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


ent,  but  I  am  so  under  her  thumb  at  the 
moment  that  I  am  a  flabby  mass  of  indeci- 
sion. I  have  no  more  mind  than  a  jellyfish, 
yet  I  have  to  decide  a  matter  of  vital  im- 
portance within  a  month.  How  can  I  make 
up  a  non-existent  mind?  Answer  me  that. 
Your  life  is  so  fixed  and  serene  and  settled; 
so  full  of  absorbing  work;  you  are  so  flattered 
and  appreciated  that  you  are  like  a  big  ship 
anchored  in  a  safe  harbor,  and  you  can't 
think  what  it's  like  to  be  a  silly  little  yacht 
bobbing  about  on  the  open  sea!"  (Such  is 
the  uncomprehending  viewpoint  of  twenty 
toward  thirty;  the  calm  assumption  that 
ladies  of  that  mature  age  can  have  no  love- 
affairs  of  their  own  to  perplex  them!) 

"There  is  no  need  of  your  being  a  silly 
little  yacht,  Dolly!"  I  answered.  "If  you 
want  to  make  a  real  voyage  you  have  the 
power  to  choose  your  craft." 

"Mother  always  chooses  for  me,"  she 
said  with  a  pout.  "She  doesn't  gag  me  and 
put  me  in  irons  and  lead  me  up  the  gang- 
plank by  brute  force,  but  she  dominates  me. 

196 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


I  start  out  each  morning  like  a  nice,  fat,  pink 
balloon  and  by  evening,  though  I  have  n't 
felt  any  violent  pin-pricks,  I  am  nothing  but 
a  little  shrunken  heap  of  shriveled  rubber. 
You  know  it,  Charlotte!  You  have  seen  me 
bouncing  at  breakfast  and  seen  me  flat  at 
dinner!" 

It  was  impossible  not  to  laugh  at  her. 
"Don't  be  ridiculous!"  I  expostulated. 
"There  is  nothing  between  you  and  happi- 
ness but  a  little  cloud  so  diaphanous  that  a 
breath  of  common  sense  would  blow  it  away. 
Now  read  your  magazine  and  let  me  write 
in  my  log-book.  It  is  intended  to  be  an  in- 
formal report  to  my  chief,  of  the  islands  we 
are  to  visit.  We  shall  be  at  St.  Thomas  to- 
morrow morning  and  in  the  four  days  we 
have  been  journeying  from  New  York  the 
only  topic  of  conversation  in  which  you 
have  shown  the  slightest  enthusiasm  is 
whether  you  should  or  should  not  marry 
Marmaduke  Hogg!" 

"Don't  call  him  all  of  it,  Charlotte,"  and 
she  shuddered.  "Mother  is  always  doing  it 

197 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


and  I  can't  bear  it! "  whereupon  she  flounced 
about  on  her  deck-chair  and  hid  her  face  in 
her  steamer-rug. 

It  was  a  foolish  little  love-story,  that  of 
Dorothea  Valentine.  Her  mother  was  a  mass 
of  polite  and  unnecessary  conventions;  a 
pretty  sort  of  person  with  a  clear  profile  like 
that  of  a  cold,  old  little  bird.  Her  small,  sharp 
nose  resembled  a  beak;  her  eyes  were  like 
two  black  beads;  and  her  conversation  was 
a  lengthy  series  of  twitterings.  Charlotte 
Clifford  used  to  tell  Miss  Winthrop  that  if 
Mrs.  Valentine  had  been  a  canary,  people 
would  have  forever  been  putting  a  towel 
over  her  cage  to  secure  silence.  She  was  al- 
ways idle,  save  for  a  bewildering  succession 
of  reconstruction  periods,  apparently  fore- 
stalling ruins  that  no  one  else  could  have 
prophesied.  She  dieted  and  reduced  her  hips; 
had  violet  rays  applied  to  her  scalp;  had 
her  wrinkles  ironed  out  by  some  mysterious 
process.  If  you  caught  her  before  ten  in  the 
morning  you  would  find  her  with  crescent- 

198 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


shaped  bits  of  court-plaster  beside  her  eyes, 
in  front  of  her  ears,  and  between  her  brows. 
She  was  beautifully  clothed,  shod,  gloved, 
massaged,  manicured,  and  marcelled.  She 
lived  on  the  best  sides  of  the  streets  and 
at  the  proper  hotels.  She  answered  notes, 
returned  calls,  and  gave  wedding  presents 
punctiliously.  She  never  used  the  telephone 
for  invitations,  nor  had  anything  but  con- 
tempt for  abbreviations,  carefully  writing 
out  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania,  and  Minne- 
apolis, Minnesota,  when  she  addressed  her 
sisters  in  those  cities.  A  mass  of  the  most 
glaring  virtues  was  Mrs.  Reginald  Valentine, 
impeccable  and  unassailable,  with  views  on 
all  subjects  as  rigid  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians.  She  had  ordered  her  husband's 
life  during  their  ten  years  of  marriage,  he 
being  a  gentle  and  artistic  soul,  and  she  had 
more  or  less  directed  his  exercise,  amuse- 
ments, diet,  as  well  as  his  political  and  re- 
ligious opinions.  She  nursed  him  faithfully 
in  his  last  illness,  but  when  he  timidly  begged 
to  be  cremated  instead  of  buried,  she  re- 

199 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


minded  him  that  it  was  a  radical,  ultra-mod- 
ern idea;  that  the  Valentine  lot  and  monu- 
ment were  very  beautiful;  that  there  never 
had  been  any  cremations  in  the  family  con- 
nection; and  that  she  hoped  he  would  not 
break  a  long-established  custom  and  leave 
behind  him  a  positively  irreligious  request. 
Various  stories  of  Mr.  Valentine's  docility 
had  crept  into  circulation,  and  it  is  said  that 
on  this  occasion  he  turned  his  head  meekly 
to  the  wall  and  sighed:  "Very  well,  Emma! 
Do  just  as  you  think  best;  it 's  your  funeral ! " 
Just  how  Dorothea  blossomed  on  this  stalk 
it  is  difficult  to  say.  A  bright-eyed,  sunshiny, 
willful  baby,  she  had  grown  into  an  unaf- 
fected, attractive,  breezy  young  woman, 
outwardly  obedient,  inwardly  mutinous.  She 
was  generally  calm  in  her  mother's  presence, 
never  criticizing  her  openly,  and  her  merry 
heart  kept  her  from  being  really  unhappy 
in  a  relationship  that  many  girls  would  have 
found  intolerable.  Beaux  she  had  a-plenty 
and  lovers  not  a  few.  As  cream  or  honey  to 
flies,  so  was  Dorothea  Valentine  to  mankind 

200 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


in  general;  but  she  took  them  on  gayly  and 
cast  them  off  lightly,  little  harm  being  done 
on  either  side  by  the  brief  experience. 

Of  course  the  suits  of  some  of  the  suitors 
had  been  hard-pressed  by  Mrs.  Valentine. 
"You  will  go  through  the  woods  to  find  a 
crooked  stick  at  last,  Dorothea,"  she  would 
say.  "You  don't  know  a  desirable  parti  when 
you  see  one.  You  must  have  an  extraordinary 
opinion  of  your  own  charms  to  think  that  you 
have  only  to  pick  and  choose.  Those  charms 
will  fade,  rather  prematurely,  I  fear,  and 
when  your  looked-for  ideal  comes  along  it 
may  be  that  he  will  not  regard  you  as  flaw- 
less." 

"I  don't  expect  him  to,  mother!  I  only  ex- 
pect him  to  find  my  own  flaws  interesting." 

"There  is  no  certainty  of  that,  my  dear," 
—  and  Mrs.  Valentine's  tone  was  touched 
with  cynicism.  "I  had  an  intimate  friend 
once,  Clara  Wyman,  a  very  nice  girl  she  was, 
who  had  been  in  love  with  my  cousin  Roger 
Benson  for  years.  He  seemed  much  attached 
to  her  and  when  time  went  by  and  nothing 

20 1 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


happened,  I  spoke  to  him  plainly  one  night 
and  asked  him  if  he  did  n't  intend  to  propose 
to  her,  and  if  not,  what  were  his  reasons. 
What  do  you  suppose  they  were?" 

Mrs.  Valentine's  tone  implied  that  a 
shock  was  coming. 

Dolly  sat  erect  on  her  mother's  Italian 
day-bed  as  one  prepared. 

"I'm  sure  I  have  no  idea  —  how  could  I 
have?"  she  asked. 

"Roger  said  that  he  did  n't  like  her  wiping 
her  nose  through  her  veil!!" 

Dolly  flung  herself  at  length  on  the  couch 
and  buried  her  face  in  the  cushions,  her  whole 
body  shaking  convulsively  with  silent  mirth. 

"You  may  laugh,  Dorothea,  but  this  in- 
cident, which  I  have  told  many  times,  shows 
how  fantastic,  erratic,  despotic,  and  hyper- 
critical men  generally  are.  You  will  come 
to  your  senses  some  time  and  realize  that 
no  one  is  likely  to  bear  with  your  perver- 
sities more  patiently  than  Arthur  Wilde  or 
Lee  Wadsworth,  who  have  both  wasted  a 
winter  dangling  about  you." 

202 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


Dolly  raised  her  head,  patted  her  hair, 
and  wiped  her  streaming  eyes. 

"I  realize  the  dangerous  obstacles  between 
me  and  the  altar  as  I  never  did  before,"  — 
and  the  girl's  voice  was  full  of  laughter. 
"But  I  should  have  to  lock  Arthur  Wilde 
in  the  basement  whenever  professors  came 
to  dinner.  I  could  n't  marry  Arthur's  vocab- 
ulary, mother,  —  I  could  n't!" 

"He  is  a  wonderful  son,  and  a  millionaire; 
he  has  three  houses,  four  motors,  and  a  steam 
yacht!" 

"Sure,  but  that  don't  ' enthuse  me,'  'tre- 
menjous'  as  it  sounds!  (I  am  imitating  Mr. 
Wilde's  style  of  conversation.)  And  as  for 
Lee  Wads  worth  he  is  bow-legged!" 

"Lee's  reputation  is  straight  at  any  rate, 
and  his  income  all  that  could  be  desired," 
responded  Mrs.  Valentine  loftily.  "I  wish 
I  could  convince  you,  Dorothea,  that  there 
are  no  perfect  husbands.  You  are  looking 
for  the  impossible!  Indeed,  I  have  always 
found  men  singularly  imperfect,  even  as 
friends  and  companions,  and  in  a  more  in- 

203 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


timate  relation  they  leave  still  more  to  be 
desired.  You  dismissed  Sir  Thomas  Scott 
because  he  was  too  dictatorial,  although 
you  knew  he  intended  to  have  the  family 
diamonds  reset  for  you." 

"He'd  have  had  them  reset  in  Sheffield 
or  Birmingham,  but,  anyhow,  one  does  n't 
marry  diamonds,  mother." 

"One  might  at  least  make  the  effort,  Dor- 
othea !  I  notice  that  most  of  the  people  who 
disdain  diamonds  generally  possess  three 
garnets,  two  amethysts,  and  one  Mexican 
opal." 

Dolly  laughed.  "You  know  I  did  emulate 
the  celebrated  Mrs.  Dombey,  mother." 

"I  know  you  made  a  very  brief  and  feeble 
effort  to  be  sensible,  and  you  might  have 
conquered  yourself  had  it  not  been  for  the 
sudden  appearance  of  this  young  Hogg  on 
your  horizon." 

"You  shall  not  call  him  a  young  Hogg!" 
cried  Dolly  passionately.  "It  isn't  fair;  I 
won't  endure  it!/' 

"I  thought  that  was  his  name,"  remarked 

204 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


Mrs.  Valentine,  placidly  shifting  a  wrinkle- 
plaster  from  one  place  to  another.  "You 
would  n't  object  if  I  had  alluded  to  young 
Benham  or  young  Wadsworth.  You  show 
by  your  very  excitement  how  disagreeable  his 
name  is  to  your  ears.  It  is  n't  a  question  of 
argument;  Marmaduke  Hogg  is  an  outra- 
geous, offensive  name;  if  he  had  been  Charles 
or  James  it  would  have  been  more  decent. 
The  ' Marmaduke'  simply  calls  attention  to 
the  'Hogg.'  If  any  one  had  asked  to  intro- 
duce a  person  named  Hogg  to  me  I  should 
have  declined." 

"I've  told  you  a  dozen  times,  mother, 
that  the  Wilmots'  house-party  was  at  break- 
fast when  I  arrived  from  the  night  train. 
There  was  a  perfect  Babel  and  everybody 
was  calling  him  'Duke.'  He  looked  like  one, 
and  nobody  said  —  the  other.  I  did  n't  even 
hear  his  last  name  till  evening,  and  then  it 
was  too  late." 

"'Too  late!'  Really,  Dorothea,  if  you 
have  no  sense  of  propriety  you  may  leave 
the  room ! "  —  and  Mrs.  Valentine  applied  the 

205 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


smelling-bottle  to  her  birdlike  nose  as  a  sign 
that  her  nerves  were  racked  to  the  limit  and 
she  might  at  any  moment  succumb. 

"All  I  know  is,"  continued  Dorothea  ob- 
stinately, "that  he  was  the  best-looking, 
the  most  interesting,  the  cleverest,  the  most 
companionable  man  in  the  house-party,  or 
for  that  matter  in  the  universe.  You  don't 
ask  the  last  name  of  Orlando,  or  Benedick, 
or  Marcus  Aurelius,  or  Albert  of  Belgium." 

"It  would  n't  be. necessary."  (Here  Mrs. 
Valentine  was  quite  imperturbable.)  "The 
Valentines  have  never  been  required  to  asso- 
ciate with  theatrical  people  or  foreigners.  In 
some  ways  I  dislike  the  name  of  Marmaduke 
as  much  as  Hogg.  It  is  so  bombastic  that  it 
seems  somehow  like  an  assumed  name,  or  as 
if  the  creature  had  been  born  on  the  stage. 
When  coupled  with  Hogg  it  loses  what  little 
distinction  it  might  have  had  by  itself.  One 
almost  wishes  it  had  been  Marmalade.  Mar- 
malade Hogg  suggests  a  quite  nauseating 
combination  of  food,  but  there  is  a  certain 
appropriateness  about  it." 

206 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


Dorothea's  face  was  flaming.  "You  will 
never  allow  Duke  to  explain  himself,  mother, 
nor  hear  me  through  when  I  attempt  to  make 
things  clear  to  you.  You  never  acknowledge 
that  you  know,  but  you  do  know,  that  Duke's 
people  were  English  a  long  way  back,  and 
'Marmaduke'  is  an  old  family  name.  The 
Winthrops  will  tell  you  that  Duke's  father 
and  mother  were  named  Forrest  and  that 
they  changed  it  to  Hogg  to  pacify  an  old 
bachelor  uncle  who  wanted  to  leave  Duke  six 
thousand  dollars  a  year.  He  had  no  voice  in 
the  matter;  he  was  only  twelve  years  old." 

"It  was  a  very  short-sighted  business 
proposition,  and  your  Duke  must  have  been 
very  young  for  his  age,"  —  and  Mrs.  Valen- 
tine took  another  deep  sniff  of  lavender. 
"Sixty  thousand  a  year  would  n't  induce  me 
to  be  named  Hogg,  and  I  shall  never  consent 
to  have  one  in  my  family!" 

Dorothea  burst  into  tears,  a  most  uncom- 
mon occurrence. 

"You  have  dwelt  so  long  on  this  purely  im- 
material objection,"  she  sobbed,  "that  you 

207 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


have  finally  inoculated  me  with  something  of 
your  own  feeling  and  made  me  miserable  and 
ashamed.  I  dare  say,  too,  I  have  hurt  Duke's 
pride  by  trying  to  give  him  a  reason  for  your 
indifferent  attitude,  yet  never  having  cour- 
age for  the  real,  piffling  explanation.  I  am 
mortified  at  my  despicable  weakness  and  I 
will  overcome  it  by  realizing  how  unworthy 
I  am  to  bear  Duke's  honorable,  unstained 
name,  even  if  it  is  Hogg.  You  might  as  well 
give  up,  mother!  If  the  dearest,  best,  most 
delightful  man  in  the  world  loves  me,  I  shall 
marry  him,  name  and  all." 

"I  do  not  regard  it  as  settled,"  replied  Mrs. 
Valentine  calmly.  "The  young  man  may  not 
think  you  so  desirable  when  he  learns  that 
my  refusal  to  accept  him  as  a  son-in-law 
means  that  he  must  take  you  without  any  in- 
come. Your  dear  father  must  have  foreseen 
some  such  tragedy  when  he  left  all  his  money 
in  my  care!" 

"Duke  will  take  me  without  a  penny!" 
cried  Dorothea  hotly.  "I  would  stake  my  life 
on  that!" 

208 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


"Don't  be  melodramatic,  Dorothea.  We 
shall  see  in  time.  It  is  just  possible  that  the 
young  man  may  not  be  greedy,  and  so  belie 
his  name."  This  was  Mrs.  Valentine's  last 
shaft  as  Dorothea  walked  out  of  the  room 
with  her  chin  in  the  air. 

S.S.  Diana,  January  26,  1918 
ST.  THOMAS,  and  Charlotte  Amalia,  the  little 
town   for   which  I  was   named,  looked    so 
lovely  when  we  landed  early  this  morning 
that  I  felt  a  positive  thrill  of  pride. 

This  halfway  house  of  the  sea,  this  gate- 
way of  the  Caribbean,  as  it  has  been  pic- 
turesquely called,  seemed,  as  Dolly  and  I 
climbed  the  hills  and  the;  stone  stairways, 
to  materialize  into  a  birthplace  instead  of  a 
vague  dream.  A  year  ago,  with  the  Dannebrog, 
the  scarlet,  white-crossed  banner  of  Denmark, 
floating  over  the  red  Danish  fortress  on  the 
water-front,  I  might  have  felt  an  alien,  but 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  made  me  feel  at  home 
and  I  could  only  remember  that  my  father 
and  mother  met  and  loved  each  other  in  this 

209 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


little  Paradise,  and  that  when  I  was  born 
there  they  were  the  two  happiest  people  un- 
der the  sun.  If  they  could  have  seen  their 
daughter  saluting  the  American  flag  so  near 
the  very  spot  in  which  she  first  saw  the  light, 
they  would  have  been  comforted,  I  am  sure, 
instead  of  repining  that  they  had  both  been 
taken  away  when  she  most  needed  their  love 
and  protection. 

Such  a  view  from  Diana's  deck  as  we  crept 
into  the  wonderful  harbor!  A  background  of 
towering  green  hills  and  a  dazzling  blue  of 
velvet  sky  and  crystal  sea,  like  that  of  Al- 
giers, greeted  our  enchanted  gaze!  Like  some 
of  the  coast  towns  of  Italy,  Charlotte  Amalia 
is  gay  with  color,  and  its  white,  red-roofed 
villas  nestle  among  their  luxuriant  gardens 
and  tropical  foliage,  standing  out  in  a  per- 
fect riot  of  orange  and  yellow,  blue  and  red. 

Never,  save  in  Venice,  have  I  seen  such  a 
gorgeous  array  of  color  in  a  landscape. 

Five  hours  we  had  in  St.  Thomas  while 
the  Diana  put  off  hundreds  of  barrels  of 
cement;  but  what  with  the  gayly  painted 

2IO 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


boats  and  their  dark-skinned  crews,  the 
naked  brown  boys  diving  and  swimming  for 
pennies  and  dimes  in  the  harbor,  a  walk  to 
Bluebeard's  Tower  and  Blackbeard's  Castle, 
we  were  well  amused.  Particularly  so  was 
Dorothea,  who  disappeared  from  my  side 
for  a  half-hour  while  I  chatted  with  the 
captain,  rejoining  me  in  the  tiny  palm- 
bordered  park  near  the  landing. 

She  was  glowing  with  happiness. 

"What  do  you  think,  Charlotte?"  she 
exclaimed.  "I  have  a  letter  from  Duke.  Not 
written  after  we  sailed,  of  course,  for  it 
could  n't  have  reached  me.  He  bearded 
mother  in  her  fortress  the  morning  we  left 
Washington.  She  was  out,  or  said  she  was, 
but  sent  a  note  saying  that  I  had  gone  on  a 
journey  and  would  be  absent  for  a  month. 
He  went  directly  to  the  Winthrops  for  news 
and  they  told  him  I  was  with  you  and  that 
if  he  wrote  at  once  by  special  delivery  he 
could  reach  the  ship  before  it  left  New  York 
dock.  He  sent  the  letter  to  the  captain  and 
asked  him  to  give  it  to  me  at  St.  Thomas  for 

211 


LADIES  -IN-WAITING 


a  surprise.  The  captain  is  such  a  nice  man, 
though  a  good  deal  of  a  tease !  Mr.  Winthrop 
was  delighted  to  hear  you  were  not  alone. 
Poor  Miss  Winthrop  has  influenza  and  they 
both  wish  they  had  taken  this  trip.  It  seems 
they  are  thinking  of  it  just  a  little." 

"The  Winthrops  coming  on  this  voyage," 
I  exclaimed.  "Impossible!  They  had  n't  an 
idea  of  it." 

"Mightn't  he  want  to  interview  the 
governor  and  look  at  the  island?" 

"He  has  n't  time.  I  chose  this  journey 
instead  of  another  so  that  I  could  interview 
the  governor  and  look  at  the  islands  myself." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  there's  nothing  in  it. 
Duke  did  n't  speak  of  it  as  anything  settled, 
and  he  may  have  misunderstood,  his  mind 
being  on  me.  May  I  read  you  the  letter  —  I 
mean  parts  of  it?" 

"I  should  n't  expect  to  hear  all  of  it,"  I 
replied  dryly. 

"Yet  the  bits  I  leave  out  are  the  ones 
that  show  him  as  he  is,"  she  said,  looking 
off  into  the  grove  of  palms.  "Duke  is  so 
212 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


conscientious  that  until  we  succeed  in  melt- 
ing mother  —  that  would  be  a  good  title  for 
a  story,  ' Melting  Mother'!  —  and  until  she 
sanctions  an  engagement  he  won't  let  him- 
self go,  even  on  paper.  So  I  get  only  a  lovely 
sort  of  *  seepage'  that  breaks  through  in 
spite  of  him!" 

"Skip  the  seepage,"  I  said  unsympathet- 
ically,  "and  give  the  news." 

She  re-read  the  first  paragraphs  to  her- 
self with  a  good  deal  of  dimpling  and  with 
eyes  that  suffused  with  feeling  now  and  then, 
and  turning  the  page  began  to  read  aloud: 

Knowing  that  you  were  on  the  high  seas  far 
away  from  me,  though  safe  with  your  charming 
Miss  Clifford  (Duke  admires  you  extravagantly, 
Charlotte!),  I  concluded  to  burn  my  ships  and 
have  a  straightforward  talk  with  your  mother, 
although  you  have  repeatedly  warned  me  that 
this  was  not  the  best  method  of  approach  and 
that  only  patience  would  win  my  cause.  I  sent 
up  my  card  at  the  New  Willard,  and  doubtless  she 
would  have  refused  to  receive  me,  but,  going  from 
the  office  to  one  of  the  reception  rooms  to  await 
her,  I  found  her  seated  there  with  your  Philadel- 

213 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


phia  aunt  and  another  lady.  There  had  evidently 
been  confidences,  so  they  scented  trouble  and  took 
to  their  heels  when  I  had  been  introduced  to  them 
somewhat  informally  as  a  friend  of  Dorothea's, 
my  name  not  being  mentioned. 

I  asked  your  mother,  when  we  were  left  alone, 
if  she  had  any  objection  to  me  other  than  my  un- 
euphonious  and  suggestive  surname. 

She  replied  guardedly,  no,  or  at  least  nothing 
in  particular,  though  she  might  say  without  con- 
ceit that  Dorothea  might  aspire  to  anybody,  even 
the  highest. 

I  cordially  agreed,  saying  that  if  the  male  sex 
had  any  eye  for  beauty,  charm  or  loveliness  of 
character,  Dorothea  might  marry  not  only  any- 
body but  everybody. 

She  said  she  thought  persiflage  was  out  of  taste 
when  the  happiness  of  a  mother's  whole  life  was 
in  question. 

I  begged  pardon,  but  said  it  was  necessary  for 
me  to  whistle  to  keep  my  courage  up,  for  the  hap- 
piness of  my  whole  life  was  in  question. 

She  said  that  was  beside  the  point  and  her 
daughter's  happiness  must  also  be  considered. 

I  remarked  that  her  daughter,  to  my  infinite 
surprise  and  gratitude,  assured  me  that  her  hap- 
piness lay  in  the  same  direction  as  my  own. 

214 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


She  vouchsafed  the  information  that  Doro- 
thea was  a  romantic  fool. 

I  denied  it. 

She  dealt  what  she  considered  to  be  a  body- 
blow  by  affirming  that  your  property  would  not 
be  in  your  hands  till  you  were  twenty-one. 

I  replied  that  I  did  n't  care  if  it  did  n't  reach 
you  till  you  were  a  hundred  and  twenty-one. 

She  said,  "Don't  be  silly,"  and  asked  me  if 
I  had  ever  thought  of  changing  my  name  back  to 
Forrest  from  Hogg. 

I  inquired  in  return  if  she  would  mind  the  loss 
of  six  thousand  dollars  a  year,  supposing  that  I 
should  take  such  a  step. 

She  reflected  and  said  that  she  should,  but 
she  would  rather  lose  it  than  take  the  name;  and 
that  we  could  rub  along  on  Dorothea's  money, 
she  supposed,  if  that  was  my  idea  of  a  pleasant 
life. 

I  hastened  to  say  that  I  would  relinquish  the 
six  thousand  without  a  pang,  confident  that  I 
could  make  a  living  anyway;  but  that  it  would  be 
disloyal  to  my  good  old  uncle,  whose  bounty  had 
given  me  a  college  course,  two  years  at  Oxford 
and  three  at  Harvard  Law  School.  It  had  also 
permitted  me  to  give  my  services  to  the  United 
States  Shipping  Board  without  compensation. 

215 


LADIES  -IN  -WAITING 


She  said  she  thought  it  was  very  selfish  in  a 
government  to  accept  a  man's  whole  time  and 
give  him  no  remuneration;  that  the  Secretary  of 
the  Treasury  had  only  to  say  to  the  banks,  "Let 
there  be  money,"  and  there  was  money.  There 
would  be  plenty  for  everybody  if  only  the  en- 
gravers and  laborers  at  the  Mint  would  not 
strike. 

I  reminded  her  that  men  were  remunerated 
sufficiently  in  being  allowed  to  serve  their  coun- 
try in  time  of  war. 

She  returned  that  she  thought  that  point  of 
view  foolish  and  fantastic,  but  if  she  found,  after 
a  year,  that  her  daughter's  peace  of  mind  was 
threatened,  would  I  then  change  my  name  and 
live  on  Dorothea's  income  until  I  could  establish 
myself  in  the  practice  of  the  law?  She  said  that 
I  must  acknowledge  that  this  was  a  ridiculously 
generous  proposition  and  one  that  neither  my 
talents  nor  my  station  in  life  merited. 

I  replied  that  the  proposition  meant  to  me  that 
I  should  simply  be  selling  myself  and  buying  her 
daughter,  and  that  I  declined  to  accept  it. 

("Oh,  Charlotte!"  the  girl  interrupted 
with  a  catch  in  her  throat,  "don't  you  think 
that  was  splendid  and  clever,  too?") 

216 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


Your  mother  said  that  she  wished  to  take  the 
matter  into  consideration  during  your  absence 
[so  the  letter  ran  on],  and  just  as  we  were  rising 
the  Philadelphia  aunt  came  in  from  one  door  and 
General  X,  Senator  Y,  and  Lord  Z  from  another. 

They  are  at  the  moment  three  of  the  most  sig- 
nificant figures  in  the  moving  picture  of  Washing- 
ton society,  and  all  women  pursue  them.  They 
beamed  at  me  as  if  they  had  been  commandeered 
for  that  special  purpose,  and  Senator  Y  said 
jovially:  "How  are  you,  Duke?  Glad  to  see  you. 
Are  you  free  to  dine  with  us?" 

I  hastily  turned  to  your  mother,  saying:  "I 
was  just  going  to  ask  you  and  your  sister  if  you 
would  dine  with  me." 

Lord  Z,  who  was  at  Balliol  with  me,  you  re- 
member, said:  Then  perhaps  you  will  allow  us 
to  come  to  your  table  for  coffee,  Hogg?"  Your 
mother  gazed  at  him,  astounded  that  his  noble 
tongue  could  utter  the  name.  Then  she  actually 
and  gracefully  "fell"  for  the  dinner,  lured  by 
the  bait  of  the  post-prandial  coffee  with  the  dis- 
tinguished trio,  and  the  Philadelphia  aunt  kept 
things  going  serenely.  She  is  a  delightful  person 
and  will  be  a  perfect  companion  for  your  mother 
when  —  you  know  when  —  when  she  needs  one 
—  and  I  no  longer  do ! 

217 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


("There  never  was  a  man  who  said  things 
like  Duke!"  interpolated  Dolly  ecstatically.) 

All  would  have  gone  swimmingly  to  the  end 
had  not  a  page  suddenly  entered  the  room  bawl- 
ing: "  Mr.  Hogg  wanted  at  the  telephone:  Mr.  Hogg  ? 
Telephone  message  for  Mr.  HOGG!" 

Only  capitals  can  give  an  idea  of  the  volume  of 
voice.  My  ear-drum,  grown  painfully  sensitive 
since  I  met  your  mother,  echoed  and  reechoed 
with  the  tone  as  I  threaded  my  way  through  the 
crowded  room,  followed  by  every  eye,  while  I 
imagined  people  saying:  I  wonder  if  he's  called 
to  the  stockyard?"  (It  is  queer,  but  I  never  felt 
this  way  in  Oxford,  for  they  still  remember  Hogg, 
the  Scottish  poet,  and  I  hung  myself  to  his  re- 
vered coat-tails.) 

The  telephone  message  was  from  my  secre- 
tary, and  healed  my  wounded  vanity,  for  it  came 
from  the  British  Embassy  conveying  the  thanks 
of  the  Foreign  Office  for  Mr.  Hogg's  friendly 
and  helpful  action  in  conducting  negotiations  for 
the  chartering  of  ex-enemy  ships  lying  in  South 
American  ports. 

("You  see  what  he  is!"  exclaimed  Dolly, 
looking  up  from  the  letter  with  eyes  full  of 

218 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


unshed  tears!  "Of  course  he  has  five  or  six 
superiors  in  office  but  I  suppose  really  that 
Duke's  extraordinary  talent  keeps  that 
whole  shipping  board  going!  You  mark  my 
words,  Charlotte,  when  Duke  gives  up  his 
position  and  goes  to  Plattsburg  there'll  be 
an  absolute  slump  in  that  office!  But  just 
hear  what  follows;  it  is  so  discouraging!") 

But  when,  glowing  with  the  delight  that  always 
comes  to  me  when  I  have  any  little  tribute  to  lay 
with  my  love  at  your  charming  number-three 
feet,  when  I  returned  to  my  table  your  mother 
had  gone  to  her  room  and  the  Philadelphia  aunt 
remained  to  explain  that  she  had  been  taken  sud- 
denly ill. 

"It  will  all  come  right,  Mr.  —  my  dear  boy!" 
she  said.  "My  sister  has  one  weakness,  an  ab- 
normal sensitiveness  to  public  opinion.  She  thinks 
constantly  what  people  will  say  of  this,  that,  or 
the  other  trifling  thing,  and  in  that  way  perpetu- 
ally loses  sight  of  the  realities  of  life.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  good  in  her  that  you  have  never  seen 
because  for  the  moment  she  is  absolutely  ob- 
sessed by  her  objection  to  your  name  and  her  con- 
viction that  Dorothea  might  and  should  marry  a 

219 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


title.  My  sister  married  Reginald  Valentine  more 
for  the  effect  on  her  future  visiting-card  than  any- 
thing else,  but  Dorothea's  father  bequeathed  his 
good  looks,  his  sunny  disposition,  his  charm,  and 
his  generous  nature  to  his  daughter.  You  have 
chosen  wisely,  my  dear  Mr.  —  boy,  but  not  more 
wisely,  to  my  mind,  than  Dorothea  has!" 

So  it  ended,  but  I  somehow  hope  that  I  may 
have  converted  your  mother  from  an  enemy  alien 
to  an  armed  neutral! 

"There  is  nothing  more  of  —  of  —  general 
interest,"  said  Dolly  tearfully,  as  she  slipped 
the  letter  in  the  envelope.  "Aunt  Maggie  is  a 
trump.  Oh,  Charlotte!  if  only  you  had  ever 
had  a  love-problem  like  mine  and  could 
advise  me!  Duke  always  wondered  that  you 
never  married."  , 

(Dorothea  ought  to  be  cuffed  for  imper- 
tinence, but  she  is  too  unconscious  and  too 
pretty  and  lovable  for  corporal  punishment.) 

"Perhaps  there  may  still  be  hope  even  at 
thirty!"  I  said  stiffly. 

"Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  that!  You  might 
have  anybody  by  lifting  your  finger!  We 

220 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


only  wonder  you  Ve  never  lifted  it!  But  you 
could  be  happy  only  with  a  very  learned 
and  prominent  man,  you  are  so  clever!" 

"I'm  clever  enough  to  prefer  love  to 
learning,  if  I  have  to  choose,  Dolly,  my 
dear." 

"I'm  so  sorry  you  didn't  get  a  letter, 
Charlotte,"  said  the  girl,  snuggling  sym- 
pathetically to  my  side  on  the  bench. 

This  was  more  than  flesh  and  blood  or 
angel  could  bear! 

I  kissed  her,  and,  shaking  her  off  my 
shoulder  vigorously,  I  said,  as  I  straight- 
ened my  hat:  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  Miss 
Valentine,  I  have  had  a  letter  every  day  since 
we  left  New  York;  a  letter  delivered  before 
breakfast  by  the  steward.  You  have  had  but 
one,  yet  you  are  twenty  and  I  am  thirty!" 

"Charlotte!" 

"Don't  add  to  your  impudence  by  be- 
ing too  astonished,  darling,"  I  continued. 
"Come!  let's  go  and  pick  bananas  and  pine- 
apples and  tamarinds  and  shaddocks  and 
star-apples  and  sapodillas!" 

221 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"I  won't  budge  a  step  till  you  tell  me  all 
about  it!" 

"Then  you'll  grow  to  this  green  bench 
and  have  to  be  cut  away  by  your  faithful 
Marmaduke!" 

"Is  it  a  secret?" 

"It  does  n't  exist  at  all  for  you.  You  are 
not  of  age,  Dolly." 

"I'm  old  enough  to  know  the  things  one 
can  learn  by  heart!"  was  Dolly's  comment. 

When  the  Diana  was  leaving  St.  Thomas 
at  sunset  a,nd  we  were  well  on  our  way  to 
St.  Croix,  Dolly  made  a  half  confidence. 

"You  are  not  my  chaperon,  Charlotte, 
because  in  my  hour  of  need  I  simply  fastened 
myself  to  you  like  a  limpet,  or  an  albatross, 
or  a  barnacle,  or  any  other  form  of  nautical 
vampire  that  you  prefer.  Still,  I  might  as 
well  confess  that  I  cabled  to  Duke,  or  wire- 
lessed, or  did  something  awfully  expensive 
of  that  sort  at  St.  Thomas  while  you  were 
having  that  interminable  talk  with  the 
captain,  who,  by  the  way,  is  married  and 
devoted  to  his  wife,  they  say." 
322 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


"That  was  foolish  and  extravagant,  my 
child,"  I  answered.  "I  don't  know  what  you 
said,  but  I  have  the  most  absolute  confidence 
in  your  indiscretion.  I  hope  you  remembered 
that  all  messages  are  censored  in  war-time?" 

"I  did,  indeed,"  she  sighed.  "I  was  never 
so  hampered  and  handicapped  in  my  life, 
but  I  think  I  have  outwitted  the  censors.  I 
wish  I  were  as  sure  about  —  mother!" 

S.S.  Diana,  January  26 

ST.  CROIX  was  delightful,  with  a  motor-ride 
across  the  island  from  Frederikstad  to 
Christianstad,  where  we  lunched. 

Dolly's  mind  is  not  in  a  state  especially 
favorable  for  instruction,  but  I  took  a  guide- 
book, and,  sitting  under  a  wonderful  tam- 
arind tree,  read  her  Alexander  Hamilton's 
well-known  letter  describing  a  West  Indian 
hurricane,  written  from  St.  Croix  in  1772. 

We  were  with  a  party  of  Canadian  ac- 
quaintances made  on  shipboard  and  greatly 
interested  in  our  first  visits  to  sugar  plan- 
tations. Vast  cane-fields  of  waving  green 

223 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


stretched  mile  after  mile  on  the  right  and 
on  the  left,  making  it  seem  incredible  that 
a  Food  Commissioner  need  beg  the  sweet 
tooth  to  deny  itself  in  the  midst  of  such 
riotous  plenty. 

There  was  a  dazzling  glare  from  the 
white  buildings  of  the  town  and  the  coral 
roads,  but  the  moment  we  reached  the  out- 
lying country  all  was  verdant  and  restful. 
The  beautiful  hard  roads  ran  like  white 
ribbons  over  velvet  hills  and  through  rich 
valleys;  tall  windmills,  belonging  to  the 
earlier  days  of  sugar-making,  rose  pic- 
turesquely from  the  magnificent  palms  and 
other  shade-trees;  there  were  brilliant  flow- 
ers and  blossoming  vines  breaking  through 
hedges  here  and  there,  and  acres  of  pine- 
apples and  orange  groves.  Truly,  our  Cana- 
dian companions  might  wish  us  luck  in  our 
new  possessions! 

Later  in  the  day 

We  have  left  the  Virgin  Islands  now  and 
at  dawn  we  neared  St.  Kitts,  of  the  Leeward 

224 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


group,  anchoring  a  half-mile  away  from  the 
landing  and  putting  passengers  ashore  in 
the  small  boats  that  ranged  themselves 
near  the  steamer.  There  was  a  very  bedlam 
of  chatter,  argument,  and  recrimination 
among  the  black  boatmen,  mounting  at 
times  to  furious  invective  in  a  patois  we 
failed  wholly  to  understand,  for  though  the 
majority  of  the  natives  speak  English  on 
all  the  islands,  whether  Dutch,  French,  or 
British,  they  use  a  language  of  their  own 
vintage  on  these  undress  occasions.  I  could 
see  Dolly's  bright  head  and  laughing  eyes 
peeping  through  her  porthole,  nodding  good- 
morning  to  me  as  I  viewed  the  scene  from 
my  own  little  stateroom  opposite  hers. 

The  St.  Kitts  boatmaster  was  a  superb 
personage  in  white  linen  uniform  and  cap. 
He  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps  lowered 
from  our  steamer  to  the  ocean,  and  from 
that  serene  height  of  power  commanded 
his  clamorous  and  refractory  legions. 

It  was  his  voice  that  called  me  irresist- 
ibly from  my  berth  and  kept  my  ears,  as 

225 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


well  as  my  eyes,  glued  to  the  porthole  of  my 
cabin.  It  was  a  deep,  rich  barytone,  as  full 
of  color  as  his  own  native  skies  and  sea. 
The  white  cap  set  off  his  dark  skin,  and  a 
pair  of  eyes  that  shot  lightnings  of  authority 
gleamed  from  under  his  vizor.  He  ought  to 
have  been  singing  the  "Pagliacci"  prologue 
at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  but  in- 
stead he  was  calling  resonantly  (his  private 
megaphone  seemed  to  be  located  in  his  own 
throat):  "Don't  crowd,  Edward.  .  .  .  Push 
in,  Victoria.  .  .  .  Get  away,  George.  .  .  .  Come 
nearer,  come  nearer,  Mary.  .  .  .  Show  your 
number,  Albert,  or  meet  me  in  court  to- 
morrow at  eleven !  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  these  were  the  names 
painted  on  the  boats  crowding  and  jamming 
their  way  to  the  most  favorable  places  for 
securing  passengers  or  freight;  but  the 
quality  of  his  voice  made  it  seem  as  if,  in 
calling  Victoria,  Edward,  George,  Mary,  and 
Albert,  he  were  summoning  a  corporeal 
bevy  of  kings  and  queens  to  do  his  instant 
bidding.  The  excitement  reached  its  climax 

226 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


when  an  aged  bishop  descended  the  stairway, 
which  was  under  some  circumstances  as  per- 
ilous as  a  ladder.  The  bishop's  quaint  hat 
and  gown  and  hood  of  various  colors  made 
him  seem  like  a  benign  figure  in  comic  opera; 
and  perhaps  because  of  his  dignity  or  his 
multiplicity  of  luggage,  all  the  boats  ardently 
desired  him  as  a  passenger.  Two  green  boxes, 
carrying  much  information  painted  in  white 
on  the  sides,  gave  us  all  details  of  his  rank, 
ancestry,  and  place  of  residence.  These 
were  projected  down  the  stairway  and  then 
followed  an  imposing  procession  of  servitors 
bearing  potted  plants,  packages  done  up  in 
linen  cloth,  baskets  of  eggs,  limes,  lemons, 
grapefruit,  a  canary  in  a  cage,  some  white 
mice,  and  a  Persian  cat;  the  last  three,  it  is 
needless  to  say,  being  in  separate  crates. 

Majestic  being,  that  St.  Kitts  boatmaster; 
never  more  impressive  than  when  he  suc- 
cessfully landed  a  bishop  of  the  isles!  Dolly 
and  I  recalled  the  "Admirable  Crichton" 
in  Barrie's  whimsical  play,  who,  as  butler 
in  a  titled  English  family,  was  wrecked  with 

227 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


the  entire  household  on  a  desert  island.  It 
needed  only  the  emergencies  of  twenty-four 
hours  to  establish  him  as  the  dominant  in- 
tellectual force  and  the  practical  governor 
of  the  sadly  inefficient  earls,  countesses, 
ladies,  and  honorables;  and  before  long  he 
assumed  the  authority  properly  belonging 
to  him.  That  the  earl's  daughter  finally  fell 
in  love  with  him  seemed  not  so  much  dra- 
matic license  as  a  tribute  to  his  obvious  supe- 
riority. In  London  the  lady  would  have  been 
criticized  as  marrying  beneath  her;  on  the 
desert  island  it  actually  appeared  as  if  she 
were  doing  particularly  well  for  herself; 
indeed,  Dolly  confessed  that  though  she 
would  prefer  marrying  Marmaduke  Hogg 
she  would  rather  be  wrecked  in  the  com- 
pany of  the  St.  Kitts  boatmaster. 

S.S.  Diana,  Sunday,  January  27 
AFTER  breakfast,  on  our  way  to  anchor  at 
Antigua  for  the  night,  we  saw  in  the  dis- 
tance the  towering  cone  of  Nevis,  the  "Gor- 
geous Isle"  of  Alexander  Hamilton's  birth 

228 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


and  the  famous  scene  of  Lord  Nelson's 
marriage.  It  has  fallen  from  its  proud  estate 
of  former  years  into  poverty  and  neglect, 
but  it  is  still  marvelously  beautiful  to  the 
eye.  We  sat  on  deck  reading,  or  at  least 
glancing  drowsily  over  the  pages  of  our 
books  to  the  sapphire  sea  and  the  emerald 
forests  of  the  island  shores  with  a  never- 
ceasing  delight.  There  were  three  Roman 
Catholic  priests  on  board,  also  four  Protes- 
tant missionaries,  one  of  them  with  a  wife 
and  a  family  of  charming  children  —  Samuel, 
Naomi,  Esther,  Daniel.  Piously  they  were 
named  and  never  once  did  they  bring  con- 
tempt on  the  Holy  Scriptures!  From  below 
in  a  far  end  of  the  boat  we  could  hear  echoes 
of  gospel  hymns  in  some  little  cabin  where 
a  Sunday-morning  service  was  being  held. 

Dorothea  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

"It  is  all  so  peaceful,  Charlotte!  One  day 
just  like  another  and  all  beautiful  and  tran- 
quil. We  have  n't  seen  anybody  hurry  since 
we  left  New  York.  Do  you  remember  Rud- 
yard  Kipling  saying,  when  he  came  back 

229 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


there  after  a  long  absence,  that  he  was  afraid 
to  step  slowly  lest  the  man  behind  him 
should  walk  up  his  back?  Nobody  ever 
seems  nervous  in  these  islands.  The  natives 
can  be  ragged  and  hungry  without  being 
much  concerned.  Work  never  appears  to  be 
a  delight  to  them  for  its  own  sake,  but  only 
as  a  means  to  get  food.  I  feel  slip  —  slip  — 
slipping  into  a  heavenly  state  of  coma.  Does 
anything  ever  stir  the  tropics  except  hurri- 
canes and  earthquakes,  I  wonder?  How  can 
women  fight  for  suffrage  in  this  climate? 
How  can  a  man  be  awakened  to  great  am- 
bitions?" 

"Alexander  Hamilton  was  born  on  Nevis 
and  passed  all  his  boyhood  and  youthful 
days  on  what  is  now  our  own  St.  Croix,"  I 
said. 

"Yes,  but  he  was  n't  Washington's  aide- 
de-camp  nor  secretary  of  the  treasury  in  the 
tropics!" 

"True;  nevertheless,  when  he  was  Nich- 
olas Cruger's  bookkeeper  at  the  age  of 
twelve  he  wrote  to  an  American  friend:  'I 

230 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


contemn  the  groveling  condition  of  a  clerk 
to  which  my  fortunes  condemn  me,  and  I 
would  willingly  risk  my  life,  though  not 
my  character,  to  exalt  my  station.  .  .  .  My 
youth  excludes  me  from  any  hope  of  imme- 
diate preferment,  but  I  mean  to  prepare  the 
way  for  futurity.'  You  see  the  yeast  was 
stirring,  even  in  the  tropics,  Dolly!" 

"Well,  I  feel  no  yeast  stirring  in  me,"  she 
said  languidly.  "All  the  morning  I  have  been 
trying  to  recapture  a  certain  'Ode  to  a  Cow' 
written  by  a  man  of  action  in  a  country  hotel 
where  mother  and  I  were  sojourning  last 
summer.  I  could  have  echoed  it  when  I  first 
regarded  the  inhabitants  of  these  islands, 
and  now  anybody  might  say  it  of  me,  for  I 
grow  more  and  more  cow-like  with  every 
passing  day.  It  runs  this  way: 

"'ODE  TO  A  CUD-CHEWING  COW 

"'Why,  Cow,  art  thou  so  satisfied, 

So  well  content  with  all  things  here  below, 

So  meek,  so  lazy,  and  so  awful  slow? 

Dost  thou  not  know  that  men's  affairs  are  mixed? 

23I 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


That  grievously  the  world  needs  to  be  fixed? 

That  nothing  we  can  do  has  any  worth? 

That  life  is  care  and  trouble  and  untowardness? 

Prit,  Cow!   This  is  no  time  for  idleness! 

The  cud  thou  chewest  is  not  what  it  seems. 

Get  up  and  moo!  Tear  round  and  quit  thy  dreams!'" 

By  this  time  Dorothea  was  asleep.  Her 
book  slid  to  the  floor,  I  shaded  her  face  with 
my  green  umbrella,  pulled  down  her  muslin 
frock  over  her  pretty  ankles,  and  gave  my- 
self up  to  vagrant  thoughts  of  her  probable 
future. 

Sunday  on  shipboard  is  a  good  day  for 
reflections  and  heart-searchings.  My  own 
problem,  after  all,  is  not  so  baffling  as  Dolly's. 
She  is  as  loyal  as  a  charming  and  sensible 
girl  can  be  to  a  mother  like  Mrs.  Valentine, 
whose  soul,  if  the  truth  were  told,  is  about 
the  size  of  a  mustard-seed.  A  frivolous,  use- 
less, bird-minded  woman  is  Dolly's  mother; 
a  woman  pecking  at  life  as  a  canary  pecks 
at  its  cuttlefish,  simply  to  sharpen  its  bill. 
How  the  girl  can  respect  her  I  cannot 
imagine!  I  suppose  flesh  calls  to  flesh  and 

232 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


she  loves  her  without  too  much  analysis, 
but  they  seem  to  have  come  to  the  parting 
of  the  ways.  It  is  Dolly's  highest  self  that  is 
in  love  with  Marmaduke  Hogg,  and  I  don't 
believe  she  will  sacrifice  it  to  a  maternal 
whim  and  call  it  filial  obedience.  Perhaps 
the  absence  that  makes  the  heart  grow 
fonder  is  working  like  a  philter  in  this 
journey  planned  by  Mrs.  Valentine  with  a 
far  different  purpose. 

"Let  her  go  with  you,  Charlotte,"  she 
begged  me  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "I  must 
get  her  away  from  this  attractive  but  un- 
desirable young  man!  That  absurd  uncle 
who  did  n't  want  his  name  to  die  out  must 
have  been  a  lunatic  or  an  imbecile.  Why 
should  n't  such  a  vulgar  name  become  ex- 
tinct? And  to  think  that  my  exquisite 
Dorothea  —  whose  figure  and  eyelashes 
have  been  remarked  by  royalty  —  to  think 
that  she  should  be  expected  to  graft  herself 
on  to  that  family  tree  of  all  others !  To  think 
that  she  may  take  that  name  herself  and,  for 
aught  we  know,  add  half  a  dozen  more  to 

233 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


the  list;  all  boys,  probably,  who  would  marry 
in  course  of  time  and  produce  others,  piling 
Hoggs  on  Hoggs,  as  it  were!  It  is  like  one  of 
those  horrible  endless  chains  that  are  con- 
demned by  the  government!" 

I  gave  way  to  peals  of  laughter  at  this 
impassioned  speech,  evidently  annoying 
Mrs.  Valentine,  who  expected  sympathy. 
I  tried  to  placate  her  with  reference  to  the 
poet  of  the  name  which  had  none  but  de- 
lightful associations  in  Scotland. 

"Then  if  they  choose  to  defy  me  and 
marry  each  other,  let  them  go  and  live  in 
Scotland!"  she  snapped. 

"Would  you  have  minded  Dolly's  marry- 
ing Lord  Bacon?"  I  asked. 

This  gave  her  food  for  thought. 

"No,"  she  said  reflectively,  "for,  of 
course,  he  was  a  lord,  which  is  something." 

"But  how  about  the  associations?" 

"I  can't  explain,  but  somehow  they  are 
not  as  repulsive  to  me,"  she  insisted.  "I 
always  think  of  bacon  cooked,  not  raw,  and 
—  the  other  is  alive!" 

234 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


As  for  my  own  difficulty,  it  is,  after  all, 
a  conventional  one.  I  cannot  bear  the  idea 
of  marrying  my  employer;  a  man  known 
by  sight  and  reputation  to  everybody  in 
Washington,  while  I  am  a  relatively  un- 
known person  without  fortune,  kith,  or  kin. 
The  thought  brings  to  mind  sensational 
headlines  in  cheap  newspapers  regarding  the 
wedding  of  some  aged  millionaire  with  his 
youthful  stenographer,  and  the  consequent 
alarms  of  his  household;  or  the  alliance  of 
some  scion  of  a  wealthy  house  with  a  trained 
nurse  of  obscure  lineage  and  vaulting  am- 
bition. I  am  all  alone  in  the  world,  and 
though  my  father,  who  died  when  he  was 
only  five  and  twenty,  left  me  but  the  barest 
support,  I  have  gloried  in  my  independence 
and  rejoiced  in  my  modest  successes. 

My  people  on  both  sides  were  of  good 
stock.  Even  the  Winthrops  could  climb  my 
family  tree  and  find  no  bad  fruit  on  it, 
but  the  world  will  say:  "What  a  splendid 
match  for  Charlotte  Clifford."  .  .  .  "I  won- 
der how  Ellen  Winthrop  will  take  it?"  .  .  . 

235 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"I  should  n't  have  thought  Clive  Winthrop 
would  marry  his  secretary,  somehow,  though 
there's  nothing  against  her;  but  he  could 
look  higher!" 

The  world  would  be  quite  right.  It  is  a 
splendid  marriage  for  Charlotte  Clifford, 
and  Clive  Winthrop  could  look  higher.  He 
is  my  superior  and  that  is  the  reason  I  love 
him.  That  he  loves  me  proves  that  there  is 
something  in  me  that  will  rise  to  his  level. 
All  the  same,  I  wrote  him  when  I  came  away 
that  I  could  never  cross  the  bridge  between 
us  (there  is  a  bridge,  although  he  does  not 
see  it)  until  I  was  no  longer  his  secretary 
and  until  I  was  sure  his  sister  would  wel- 
come me  into  the  household  that  has  been  so 
harmonious  and  delightful  to  every  human 
being  that  has  ever  crossed  its  threshold. 
Nobody  could  equal  Ellen  Winthrop  as  a 
hostess,  with  her  fine,  spirited  face,  lovely 
even  at  seventy;  her  gift  of  repartee,  her 
stately  manner,  her  simple,  trailing  dress, 
always  of  black  or  gray,  and  always  reaching 
the  floor,  when  most  of  the  feminine  world 

236 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


looks,  in  its  best  clothes,  as  if  mounted  on 
stilts,  with  a  skimpy,  semi-detached  tail 
wriggling  its  silly  length  behind!  I  could 
never  scale  the  heights  on  which  the  splendid 
Ellen  perpetually  dwells,  but  I  could  sit  at 
the  foot  of  them  and  admire  with  all  my 
heart,  and  perhaps  that  attitude,  if  fully 
understood,  might  win  her  affection. 

S.S.  Diana,  January  28,  1918 
AT  Antigua  we  anchored  and  took  a  steam 
launch  to  see  the  town,  where  we  visited  a 
very  fine  sugar-cane  factory,  watching  the 
whole  process  from  the  cane-field  to  the 
market. 

We  did  not  land  at  Guadeloupe,  the  hour 
not  being  favorable  and  the  stay  being  too 
brief  to  compensate  for  the  effort  involved. 
But  this  morning  at  eight  we  approached 
Dominica,  the  largest  of  the  Leeward  group, 
the  loftiest  of  the  Lesser  Antilles,  and  the 
loveliest  —  if  one  could  or  ought  to  make 
comparison  —  the  loveliest  of  the  West 
Indian  Isles.  The  guide-book  calls  it  "The 

237 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Caribbean  Wonderland,"  and  Dolly  and 
I  were  not  disposed  to  quarrel  with  the 
phrase,  after  hanging  over  the  deck-rail 
for  an  hour  before  breakfast  and  marveling 
at  the  beauty  of  the  view.  Mountains  shim- 
mered in  the  distance  like  visions  seen  in 
dreams,  mountains  like  towering  emeralds 
springing  from  a  sapphire  sea!  We  passed 
tiny  hamlets,  half-hidden  in  lime  orchards, 
and  cocoa-groves  with  yellow  patches  of 
cane  gleaming  here  and  there  against  a 
background  of  forest.  As  we  drew  nearer 
we  could  see  white  torrents  dashing  tem- 
pestuously down  through  green  valleys,  for 
Dominica  has  a  too  plenteous  water-supply, 
since  in  some  districts  three  hundred  inches 
a  year  is  the  average  rainfall.  It  rained  seven 
times  in  the  three  hours  that  we  passed  on 
shore,  but  the  showers  were  gentle  ones,  and 
we  found  generous  shelter  in  the  wonderful 
Botanical  Garden,  where  we  spent  most  of 
our  time. 

Nature   is   sometimes   a   kindly   mother; 
often  she  wears  a  tragic  mask,  and  now  and 

238 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


then  she  indulges  in  melodrama;  but  I  never 
conceived  the  possibility  of  her  having  a 
sense  of  humor  until  we  witnessed  her  freak- 
ish mood  in  the  Dominica  garden.  There 
were  the  usual  varieties  of  magnificent  palms 
and  brilliant  flowering  shrubs;  but  the  joy 
of  joys  was  the  Sausage-Tree,  around  which 
we  walked  in  helpless  mirth  at  the  incredible 
veracity  of  the  imitation.  It  reached  a  goodly 
height,  and  had  a  splendid  girth  and  cir- 
cumference of  shade;  but  no  factory  in 
Bologna  or  Frankfort,  or  any  other  possible 
birthplace  of  the  real  article,  could  rival 
this  amazing,  this  funny,  tree  in  fertility. 
Its  product  was  just  a  trifle  large,  save  for 
the  omnivorous  lover  of  sausage;  but  in 
other  respects  it  was  a  faithful  copy  of  the 
original  —  unless,  indeed,  the  first  sausage- 
maker  borrowed  the  idea  from  the  tree,  in- 
stead of  the  other  way  about.  These  vege- 
table sausages  hung  in  hundreds  of  strings 
and  festoons  and  clusters  from  the  topmost 
to  the  lowest  branches.  Because  of  the  way 
they  hung,  the  way  they  were  strung,  their 

239 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


shape  and  color,  and  the  very  manner  in 
which  the  skin  was  neatly  drawn  over  each 
one  and  fastened,  no  one  possessing  a  sense 
of  the  ridiculous  but  would  sit  down  under 
the  tree  and  laugh  at  the  joke.  Oddly  enough 
we  could  find  no  pictorial  postcard  of  this 
phenomenon  to  bring  home  for  the  enliven- 
ing of  winter  evenings,  though  we  bought  a 
capital  one  of  the  Cannon-Bali  Tree,  just  as 
unique  in  its  way  but  not  so  absurd. 

Dorothea  was  enchanted  with  Dominica, 
and  kept  exclaiming  every  few  minutes: 
"Oh,  if  only  Great  Britain  would  sell  us 
this  island!  I  think  I'd  choose  to  live  in 
Dominica,  because  if  I  had  a  sausage-tree 
in  my  garden  I  should  laugh  every  day,  and 
the  children  would  n't  need  any  playthings." 

S.S.  Diana,  February  I,  1918 
WE  have  had  a  glimpse  of  France  through 
a  day  at  Martinique.  The  principal  feature 
of  our  visit  was  a  wild  motor-drive  up  an 
eighteen-hundred-foot  mountain.  It  was  a 
steady  climb  from  glory  to  glory,  with  trop- 

240 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


ical  forests  on  every  side.  Our  method  of 
progress  was  not  quite  serene,  for  there  was 
not  a  sufficient  number  of  cars  to  satisfy  the 
demand. 

After  a  long  wait  Dolly  and  I  took  a 
small  mongrel  sort  of  motor  that  had  been 
refused  by  all  the  Diana's  passengers.  The 
Creole  driver,  handsome,  debonair,  per- 
suasive, and  fluent,  though  unintelligible,  as- 
sured us  that  he  had  ascended  and  descended 
the  mountain  hundreds  of  times,  a  fact  only 
too  obvious  to  one  who  examined  his  means 
of  transportation.  None  of  the  tires  matched, 
and  two  of  them  looked  like  wounded 
soldiers  just  home  from  the  front,  display- 
ing patches  of  adhesive  plaster  and  band- 
ages of  cotton  and  woolen  rags  of  every 
color,  with  an  occasional  inset  of  an  alien 
material  into  the  rubber.  One  could  catch 
a  glimpse  of  a  tin  tomato-can  neatly  intro- 
duced in  the  place  of  some  vital  bit  of 
machinery;  a  Waterbury  alarm-clock  figured 
in  an  unexpected  position,  apparently  add- 
ing its  power  to  the  engine;  and  there  were 

241 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


stout  ropes,  here  and  there,  which  I  never 
observed  before  in  the  rigging  of  any  motor. 

I  hesitated  to  enter,  for  the  future,  though 
not  absolutely  certain,  looked  full  of  hope 
and  promise;  but  Dolly  was  firm  and  reck- 
less. I  am  ten  years  her  senior,  but  still 
young  to  be  called  a  "'fraid  cat"  with  im- 
punity; so  I  finally  mounted  the  vehicle. 
The  driver  gave  a  gay,  insouciant  tap  to  a 
front  tire,  as  much  as  to  say:  "Courage, 
mon  enfant!  C'est  la  derniere  fois! "  —  then 
flung  himself  into  his  seat,  and,  blowing  a 
horn,  started  his  base-hospital  up  the  moun- 
tain at  a  breakneck  pace.  The  motor's  own 
horn  was  out  of  commission,  but  there  was  a 
substitute  by  the  driver's  side.  It  was  easy 
for  him  to  blow  it  because  he  had  no  particu- 
lar use  for  either  of  his  hands,  his  steering 
being  left  largely  to  chance.  Repeated  ex- 
postulations in  boarding-school  French  only 
elicited  a  reply  that  sounded  like:  "Soyez 
tranquilles,  mesdames.  You  speak  American? 
Bien!  Leezy  est  parfaitement  docile!" 

This  conveyed  no  idea  to  me,  although 

242 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


his  broad  grin  convinced  me  that  in  his 
own  opinion  it  was  a  subtle  witticism.  At 
length,  however,  it  burst  upon  Dolly,  who 
went  off  into  irrepressible  gales  of  laughter. 

"You  have  lived  so  continuously  in  a 
rarefied  Winthrop  atmosphere,  Charlotte, 
that  you  have  n't  any  modern  vocabulary. 
He  is  telling  you  the  pet  name  of  his  car,  to 
give  you  confidence.  Nobody  ever  dies  in  a 
tin  *  Lizzie.'  Not  only  is  the  machine  in- 
destructible, but  the  people  that  ride  in  it. 
Is  n't  the  driver  a  witty,  reckless  darling?" 

He  was,  indeed;  and,  incredible  as  it  may 
seem,  Lizzie  ascended  and  descended  the 
mountain  in  safety  —  though  only  because 
a  kind  Providence  watched  over  us.  Then, 
when  we  had  paid  the  reckless,  danger-proof 
darling  twice  the  sum  he  should  have  de- 
manded, we  sat  on  a  bench  in  the  Savanna, 
where  we  could  be  quietly  grateful  that  we 
were  alive  and  watch  the  coming  and  going 
of  the  Fort-de-France  townspeople,  so  un- 
mistakably French,  with  the  bright  costumes 
of  the  women,  the  pose  of  their  turbans  or 

243 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


hats,  their  sparkle  and  chatter  and  vivacious 
gestures. 

Here  in  the  Savanna  travelers  always 
gather  to  look  at  the  marble  statue  of  the 
Empress  Josephine,  which  is  called  the 
greatest  work  of  art  in  the  West  Indies. 
That  is  not  fatuous  praise,  perhaps,  but  the 
figure  needed  the  hand  of  no  master  sculptor 
to  hold  the  eye  and  captivate  the  imagi- 
nation. It  is  mounted  on  a  huge  pedestal 
and  is  of  heroic  size,  the  white  glitter  of  its 
marble  enhanced  by  its  truly  magnificent 
setting,  a  circle  of  towering  royal  palms. 
There  she  stands,  the  lovely  Creole  woman 
of  Martinique,  forever  looking  at  "Trois 
Islets,"  as  if  she  were  remembering  her 
birth  in  an  overseer's  shack  and  her  girl- 
hood passed  in  a  sugar-mill.  Straightway  the 
crowds  of  native  men  and  women  chaffering 
in  the  market-place,  the  mothers  holding 
up  their  crowing  babies  to  the  statue,  the 
nursemaids  and  groups  of  playing  children, 
all  vanished,  and  we  re-lived  in  spirit  poor 
Josephine's  past,  thrilling  anew  at  the  re- 

244 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


membrance  of  her  romance,  her  triumph, 
and  her  bitter  sorrow  —  the  Creole  girl  who 
crossed  the  sea  to  become  Empress  of  France 
and  share  a  throne  with  Napoleon,  but  who 
sailed  back  to  her  island  home  a  broken- 
hearted woman. 

Good-bye,  Martinique,  land  of  Josephine; 
and  land  of  St.  Pierre,  the  scene  of  one 
of  the  greatest  tragedies  of  modern  times, 
when  the  fury  of  Mont  Pelee  engulfed  the 
growth  of  centuries  and  buried  forty  thou- 
sand human  creatures  in  its  scalding  lava. 
St.  Lucia,  of  the  Windward  group,  to-mor- 
row, and  then  Barbados,  from  whence  the 
Diana  goes  on  to  Demerara  and  returns 
a  week  or  so  later,  so  that  we  are  able  to 
rejoin  her,  taking  up  our  former  comfortable 
cabins  and  our  much-liked  captain. 

S.S.  Diana 

Between  Barbados  and  New  York 
February  n 

HERE  we  are  again  on  our  homeward  trip, 
making  fewer  landings  and  briefer  stops, 

245 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


principally  to  take  on  passengers  and  thou- 
sands of  barrels  of  limes. 

Barbados,  with  its  charming  hotel  at 
Hastings,  was  an  unalloyed  delight;  and 
Dorothea,  who  had  determined  to  live  in 
each  of  the  islands  as  it  came  along,  would 
finally  have  transferred  her  allegiance  for 
good  and  all  had  it  not  seemed  more  loyal 
for  an  American  to  choose  one  of  our  own 
possessions  and  "grow  up  with  the  country." 
We  found  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  pleasant, 
even  distinguished,  society  —  British  offi- 
cials, ex-governors,  and  judge-advocates  of 
the  various  islands,  English  and  Canadian 
soldiers  on  sick-leave,  and  officers  command- 
ing the  U-boat  chasers  in  near-by  waters. 
Dorothea  danced  nightly  and  held  court 
daily  on  the  broad  piazzas,  reminding  me 
of  Rudyard  Kipling's  fascinating  heroine 
in  an  Indian  army  post,  who,  whenever  she 
appeared,  caused  the  horizon  to  become 
black  with  majors.  Her  head  and  heart  re- 
mained true  to  the  absent  Marmaduke  —  I 
am  not  so  sure  about  her  dancing  feet! 

246 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


Now  that  that  experience  is  over,  with 
the  many  others,  we  are  at  sea  and  quiet 
again,  with  one  tranquil  day  just  like  the 
other. 

"What  a  honeymoon  journey  it  would 
make,  Charlotte!"  said  Dolly  one  moon- 
light evening  on  deck.  "It  is  so  difficult  to 
grow  in  knowledge  of  people  in  New  York 
or  Washington.  One  does  n't  even  know 
one 's  self." 

"All  journeys  must  be  good  for  honey- 
mooners,  don't  you  think?" 

"Yes,  in  a  way;  but  some  places  are 
created  for  lovers  and  newlyweds,  who  are, 
after  all,  only  explorers,  Charlotte,  forever 
discovering  new  lands  and  annexing  new 


territories." 


"Yes;  and  sometimes  falling  into  the 
hands  of  savages  and  cannibals,  I  suppose." 

"Yes;  that  must  be  terrible  —  the  awak- 
ening to  find  that  one  has  been  mistaken  in 
a  man!"  sighed  Dolly. 

"  I  dare  say  we  ought  to  worry  lest  men  be 
mistaken  in  us;  it  might  happen,  you  know." 

247 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Your  mind  is  so  logical,  Charlotte! 
However,  this  voyage  would  n't  have  to  be 
idealized  to  meet  the  needs  of  honeymooners. 
In  a  Vermont  village  where  I  sometimes  stay 
I  remember  a  girl  who  had  to  be  married 
on  Sunday  because  she  could  not  give  up 
her  position  as  telegraph-operator  till  Sat- 
urday night.  That  was  dull  enough  in  all  con- 
science, but  she  was  married  in  her  high- 
school  graduating  dress,  and  went  to  her 
grandmother's  house,  ten  miles  away,  for 
her  wedding-journey.  I  think  it  required 
considerable  inward  felicity  to  exalt  that 
situation!" 

I  sat  upright  in  my  steamer  chair.  "Dor- 
othea," I  said  sharply,  "you  have  been 
manufacturing  conversation  for  the  last  five 
minutes  —  just  killing  time  for  fear  that  I 
should  ask  you  questions.  Is  there  anything 
on  your  mind?  You  have  been  absent- 
minded  and  nervous  for  days." 

"Your  imagination  is  working  overtime, 
Charlotte,"  she  answered.  "We  are  nearing 
home,  that  is  all;  and  life  presses  closer." 

248 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


I  could  not  gainsay  her,  for  every  mile 
of  ocean  crossed  makes  my  heart  beat 
faster.  I  seem  to  be  living  just  now  in  a 
sort  of  pause  between  my  different  lives. 
There  is  the  heaven  of  my  childhood  in 
the  vague  background;  then  the  building  of 
my  "career,"  if  so  modest  a  thing  can  be 
called  by  so  shining  a  name;  then  the  steady, 
half-conscious  growth  of  a  love  that  illu- 
mines my  labors,  yet  makes  them  difficult 
and  perplexing;  and  now  there  is  a  sense  of 
suspended  activity,  of  waiting,  with  a  glim- 
mering air-castle  rising  like  an  iridescent 
bubble  out  of  the  hazy  future.  Sometimes 
there  are  two  welcoming  faces  at  a  win- 
dow and  sometimes  the  indistinct  figure  of  a 
woman  stretching  out  a  forbidding  hand, 
my  chief's  sister,  who  may  not  want  a  third 
person  in  the  family! 

S.S.  Diana,  February  13,  1918 
DOLLY  went  on  the  bridge  this  afternoon 
and  stayed  a  half-hour  with  the  captain, 
giving  no  reason  save  that  she  liked  to  talk 

249 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


with  him,  which  seemed  plausible,  but  did 
not  satisfy  me.  At  bedtime  I  discovered  her 
unpacking  and  laying  out  in  her  upper  berth 
a  dazzling  toilet  for  our  landing  at  St. 
Thomas  to-morrow.  She  blushed  when  I 
looked  in  upon  her. 

"Do  dress  'up  to  me,'  Charlotte,"  she 
coaxed.  "I  don't  want  to  be  conspicuous. 
Wear  your  gray  georgette  and  the  broad  hat 
with  the  roses." 

"Why  this  sudden  display  of  vanity  and 
good  clothes?" 

"Has  n't  your  letter  of  introduction  to 
Governor  Oliver  brought  us  an  invitation 
to  luncheon  at  Government  House?" 

"Yes;  but  I  don't  suppose  it  is  a  banquet." 

"  Charlotte,  I  must  confide  in  you." 

"  I  should  think  it  was  about  time." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  have  known  for  days  that  you  were 
concealing  something." 

"I  didn't  want  to  be  secretive,  but  I 
thought  it  was  only  fair  to  you  to  keep  my 
own  counsel.  Now  you  can  report  to  mother 

250 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


that  you  knew  nothing,  and  that  therefore 
you  could  n't  interfere." 

"But  what  have  you  done?  You  can't 
be  secretly  married  —  with  your  chosen 
man  in  Washington  and  you  on  the  vasty 
deep." 

"No;  but  I'm  next  door  to  it." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'next  door'? 
Have  you  a  groom  and  a  minister  waiting 
on  the  New  York  dock?" 

"No;  mother  will  be  there,  but  I  fear 
she  won't  bring  a  minister.  I'm  so  glad 
you  imagined  something  far,  far  worse 
than  I  ever  intended.  It  shows  that  you 
are  more  audacious  than  I  —  though  no- 
body would  believe  it." 

"I  don't  like  your  tone;  but  go  on." 

"I've  been  communicating  rather  fre- 
quently with  Duke." 

"So  I  fancied,  from  your  changing  money 
at  every  stop  and  doing  continual  sums  on 
paper." 

"It  has  made  me  a  pauper  —  this  tele- 
graphing in  war-time.  The  messages  go 

251 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


by  Jamaica  or  Porto  Rico  or  Trinidad  or 
Bermuda  and  lots  of  other  islands,  and  I 
think  some  of  the  messages  must  be  per- 
sonally conducted  straight  to  New  York  by 
powerful  swimmers,  judging  by  the  cost." 

"Go  on.  Don't  temporize." 

"I  needn't  repeat  all  of  them,  and  in 
fact  I  have  n't  copies.  Duke,  after  he  had 
my  first  telegram  from  St.  Thomas,  wired 
back  to  St.  Croix,  '  You  are  willing  to  take 
my  name.  Why,  after  all,  should  n't  I  refuse 
your  sacrifice  and  make  one  of  my  own  by 
taking  yours?'  Was  n't  that  noble?" 

"It  would  have  softened  the  heart  of  a 
suffragette  or  a  feminist.  What  did  you 
reply?" 

"I  said:  'Never  in  the  world!'" 

"' Never'  would  have  been  enough.  You 
wasted  three  words  at  a  dollar  or  so  apiece." 

"I  wanted  to  be  strong.  I  said:  ' Never  in 
the  world!  I  am  not  going  to  have  you  criticized 
and  nagged  and  made  unhappy,  as  if  your 
name  were  a  crime !'  Then  he  wired:  *  But  it 
would  remove  objections,  and  cost  only  six 

252 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


thousand  a  year.'  I  had  to  wait  two  whole 
days  and  nights  before  I  could  cable:  'Ob- 
jector will  surely  meet  me  in  New  York.  She 
will  probably  forgive  if  we  are  both  firm.  My 
mind  is  made  up.  I  would  rather  be  a  you- 
know-what  than  remain  a  Valentine" 
'  "That  was  strong  enough." 

"  I  meant  it  to  be.  He  has  been  scurrilously 
treated,  and  somebody  must  stand  by  him. 
Now,  to-morrow,  February  I4th,  is  his 
birthday.  I  remember  it  because  we  met 
on  St.  Valentine's  day,  and  it  was  n't  many 
hours  afterward  that  I  guessed  how  he  felt 
about  me." 

"Dorothea!  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
a  man  spoke  to  you  of  his  feelings  within 
twenty-four  hours  of  the  time  you  met?" 

"No,  I  do  not." 

"You  certainly  intimated  as  much.  If  it 
was  n't  many  hours  after  you  met  on  the 
1 4th  it  must  have  been  on  the  I5th." 

"No,  you  are  wrong,  Charlotte.  It  was 
the  evening  of  the  same  day.  We  met  in  the 
early  morning." 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"It  sounds  like  a  children's  party  with  an 
exchange  of  those  snapping-mottoes." 

"Duke  is  nearly  twenty-eight,  you  know, 
Charlotte;  so  it  is  simply  nonsense  to  jeer 
at  him.  You  ought  to  be  able  to  imagine 
what  sort  of  things  would  be  said  between 
two  persons  mutually  attracted  to  each 
other  —  when  you  remember  that  he  was 
born  on  February  I4th  and  my  name  is 
Valentine.  The  coincidence  simply  put  ideas 
into  our  heads;  but  I  won't  go  on  if  you 
don't  sympathize." 

"I  don't  actually  disapprove,  not  at 
heart.  Now,  what  has  his  birthday  got  to 
do  with  to-morrow  and  St.  Thomas?" 

"Why,  I  cabled  him  as  soon  as  we  ar- 
rived at  Barbados:  'What  would  you  like 
for  a  birthday  present  from  the  West  Indies?' 
I  knew  that  he  would  remember  we  met  on 
St.  Valentine's  day  and  an  answer  could 
reach  me  at  St.  Thomas." 

"Could  n't  you  buy  him  a  souvenir  with- 
out inquiring  at  great  expense  what  he'd 
prefer?" 

254 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


"Ye-es;  but  I  thought  it  was  a  nice,  af- 
fectionate question." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  he  cabled  one  word,  Charlotte." 

"I  guessed  that  the  moment  you  quoted 
your  message.  When  you  asked :  '  What  shall 
I  bring  you  from  the  West  Indies  T  Duke 
promptly  answered,  '  Yourself"' 

"Charlotte,  you  are  positively  uncanny! 
How  did  you  manage  to  hit  upon  it?" 

"  It  does  n't  take  as  much  intellect  as  you 
fancy.  You  are  as  transparent  as  a  plate  of 
glass.  Well,  when  he  said  '  Yourself,'  how  did 
you  answer  him?" 

"It's  the  only  thing  I  don't  like  to  tell 
you,  but  I  must.  I  reflected  a  full  half- 
hour  at  Barbados.  It  was  one  of  those 
heavenly  moonlight  nights  not  suitable  for 
reflection.  Then  I  wrote  a  message  and  sent 
it  to  the  office  by  one  of  the  colored  wait- 
ers so  that  the  hotel  people  should  n't  read 
it.  It  said"  (and  here  she  turned  her  face 
away  from  me):  "' Deliveries  from  the  West 
Indies  are  uncertain  and  expensive;  come 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


and  get  me*  —  Do  you  think  that  was  for- 
ward?" 

I  laughed  irresistibly  and  a  long  time. 
"It  certainly  was  not  backward,  but  it  was 
delicious,"  I  said  at  length,  wiping  the  tears 
from  my  eyes.  "However,  he  seems  as  im- 
petuous and  tempestuous  as  you,  so  perhaps 
it  does  n't  matter." 

"You  see,  Charlotte,  I  knew  that  prob- 
ably he  could  n't  meet  this  boat  to  save  his 
life,  so  I  was  willing  to  say,  'Come  and  get 
me,'  just  for  fun.  I  had  n't  the  slightest  clue 
as  to  when  he  would  receive  my  message 
or  the  sailing  dates  of  steamers  from  New 
York,  everything  is  so  changed  in  war-times. 
I  know  only  that  the  time  is  slipping  away, 
and  Duke  may  leave  the  Shipping  Board  at 
any  moment  for  the  training-camp.  I  intend 
to  have  one  brief,  straightforward  talk  with 
mother,  and  declare  my  purpose.  We  are 
going  to  get  your  Mr.  Winthrop  to  inter- 
cede for  us,  too.  I  shall  be  of  age  in  March, 
and  I  don't  intend  to  let  a  mere  name  stand 
between  me  and  happiness." 

256 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


"I  think  you  are  right,  and  that  your 
mother  will  finally  agree  with  you;  but  I 
still  don't  see  the  need  of  an  unusual  toilet 
for  to-morrow." 

"It's  for  the  Governor,"  said  Dolly,  "and 
one  never  knows  what  may  happen." 

"  If  a  bromidic  remark  may  also  be  cryptic, 
Dorothea,  you  have  achieved  the  combina- 
tion. Now  I  must  ask  you  a  direct  question, 
for,  although  I  am  not  your  keeper,  but 
your  friend,  I  am  not  disposed  to  let  you  do 
anything  reckless.  Why  did  you  put  that 
idea  into  Duke's  head  —  the  idea  of  meet- 
ing you  in  St.  Thomas?" 

"I  wanted  to  talk  things  over  before 
seeing  mother.  I  knew  I  could  trust  him. 
He  has  some  elderly  cousins  and  a  sister- 
in-law;  surely,  between  them,  he  could 
find  somebody  to  bring  along  with  him; 
and  I  have  you,  safest  and  wisest  of  Char- 
lottes! Duke  is  one  of  the;  legal  advisers 
of  the  Shipping  Board.  Why  should  n't  he 
have  business  in  these  islands?  Besides,  it 
is  a  practical  impossibility  that  he  should 

257 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


be  able  to  reach  St.  Thomas  on  a  given 
date." 

"Then  why  did  you  suggest  it?" 

"I  think,  Charlotte,  it  must  have  been 
empty-mindedness." 

"I  regard  it  as  a  pure  lack  of  self-con- 
trol." 

"I've  practiced  self-control  for  one  whole, 
endless  year." 

"You  have  practiced  filial  obedience,  I 
grant  that.  But  what  good  do  you  expect 
to  achieve  if  Duke  does  surmount  the  in- 
surmountable and  meet  you  to-morrow?" 

"What  good?"  Dolly  almost  shrieked  the 
question.  "What  good,  do  you  ask?  You 
callous,  cold-hearted  Charlotte!  Why,  four 
heavenly  days  spent  in  his  society,  to  be 
sure  —  with  you  and  his  chaperon  having 
a  lovely  time  together  somewhere  not  too 


near." 


"And  you  have  n't  any  sneaking  idea 
of  marrying  him  in  St.  Thomas?  Because 
I  won't  allow  it." 

"No   such   luck!   He   would  n't   let   me, 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


unless  mother's  attitude  has  been  mirac- 
ulously changed." 

"Well,  I  can  only  say  that  you  have 
made  me  very  nervous  and  uncomfortable, 
Dolly,"  and  I  prepared  to  leave  her  cabin 
and  cross  the  narrow  space  that  divided  it 
from  mine. 

"Darling  Charlotte!"  Here  she  drew  me 
back.  "If  you  are  nervous  and  uncomforta- 
ble, it  seems  that  you  think  there's  a  bare 
chance  that  Duke  will  be  in  St.  Thomas." 

"I  know  nothing  about  the  possibilities," 
I  replied.  "He  might  persuade  the  Shipping 
Board  that  he  could  be  of  use  in  this  vicinity, 
and,  of  course,  he  would  have  advantages 
not  possessed  by  ordinary  tourists." 

"If  you  had  had  any  experience  with 
shipping  boards,  Charlotte,  you  would 
know  that  they  can  only  be  moved  by 
chloroform  or  dynamite.  Besides,  Duke 
would  never  do  anything  underhanded;  he 
is  too  patriotic;  though,  of  course,  he  is 
inventive." 

"Of  course!  And  inventiveness  is  only 

259 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


one  of  his  gifts,  while  his  virtues  are  those 
of  Sir  Galahad,  King  Arthur,  Marcus 
Aurelius,  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  a  few 
others." 

"Charlotte,  I  don't  want  to  seem  harsh, 
but  I  hope  some  time  you  will  get  a  faint 
inkling  of  what  love  really  is.  Your  heart 
reminds  me  of  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar!" 

"One  does  n't  wear  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar 
on  one's  sleeve,  at  all  events,"  I  remarked. 

"Do  you  mean  that  if  you  ever  did  have 
a  love-affair  you  would  n't  confide  in  me, 
when  I  adore  you  so,  Charlotte?" 

"I  mean  something  of  the  sort,  my  child." 
At  which  she  made  a  feint  of  beating  me 
with  her  little  silver  hair-brush,  but  ended 
in  kissing  my  cheek  and  whispering:  "Good- 
night! You  are  a  darling,  even  if  you  have 
no  sentiment." 

Morning  came.  We  anchored  outside  St. 
Croix  at  five  o'clock;  went  through  medical 
inspection  at  six,  and  if  there  was  anything 
the  matter  with  Dolly's  heart  or  mine  the 

260 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


physician  did  not  offer  any  comment.  Then 
about  ten  we  approached  St.  Thomas  for 
the  second  time. 

If  the  Virgin  Islands  looked  beautiful 
when  we  first  saw  them,  they  had  grown 
in  beauty  during  our  brief  absence,  and 
my  birthplace,  in  the  shining  distance,  was 
a  very  dream  of  loveliness.  We  saw  its  out- 
line rising  above  a  rim  of  azure  sea,  with 
the  mountains  of  Porto  Rico  standing  out 
to  the  westward.  The  great  palm  groves  on 
the  shore  led  the  eye  upward  to  the  green 
hills  and  the  clouds  topping  the  higher 
peaks.  Gayly  painted  boats  began  to  come 
near  the  Diana,  and  naked  diving  boys, 
slender  shapes  of  brown  mahogany,  plunged 
into  the  sea  to  catch  our  pennies.  Then  we 
saw  the  red  roofs  of  Charlotte  Amalia,  the 
little  park  near  the  landing,  and  the  pink, 
toy-like  fortress  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes 
floating  over  it. 

Dorothea  and  I  stood  near  the  deck-rail, 
her  hand  in  mine.  In  her  white  dress,  her 
broad  hat  wreathed  with  corn-flowers,  and 

261 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


a  scarlet  sunshade,  she  looked  a  youthful 
Columbia,  so  radiant  and  bewitching  that 
for  the  first  time  I  secretly  hoped  Marma- 
duke  Hogg  might  triumph  over  the  obsta- 
cles in  the  way  and  come  to  meet  his  lady- 
love, although  I  saw  many  embarrassing 
and  awkward  situations  arising  from  such  a 
meeting.  I  could  not  be  jealous  of  so  bright 
and  joyous  a  creature,  and  anyway  my  own 
happiness  was  only  a  few  days  distant,  if  I 
chose  to  put  out  my  arms  and  take  it. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  crowd  on  the  dock, 
which  was  made  most  unattractive  by  a 
colossal  mountain  of  coal  that  concealed 
everything  behind  it.  The  Diana  made  a 
slow  approach,  but  we  finally  passed  the 
coal-heap  and  came  within  thirty  feet  of  the 
shore.  I  could  feel  Dolly's  heart  beat  through 
her  pulse  that  lay  under  my  hand.  Then 
suddenly  her  quick  eyes  searched  the  outer 
edge  of  the  crowd  and  found  the  shape  they 
were  looking  for. 

"I  think  I  see  him!  I  think  I  am  going  to 
faint,  for  I  did  n't  really  expect  him!  Yes; 

262 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


I  know  it  is  he,  though  he  is  wearing  summer 
clothes  that  I  never  saw  before.  Look,  Char- 
lotte! Away  back  near  that  grove  of  cocoa- 
nut-trees!  He's  with  other  people  —  I  knew 
he  would  find  somebody!  Give  me  the 
glasses.  There's  an  elderly  man  in  a  Panama 
hat,  and  two  ladies,  and  —  why,  Charlotte, 
take  the  glasses  yourself.  It  can't  be,  but  it 
looks  like  your  Winthrop!" 

My  hand  trembled  so  that  I  could  hardly 
hold  the  glass.  I  could  scarcely  believe  Dolly's 
eyes  or  my  own;  but  the  Diana  crept  nearer, 
and  it  was  true!  Inch  by  inch  the  picture 
grew  clearer,  and  then  a  pathetic  surprise 
met  my  gaze. 

I  could  see  Clive  plainly  now,  and  felt  that 
he  was  searching  the  line  of  passengers  on 
the  Diana's  deck  to  find  me.  My  heart  gave 
a  furious  leap  to  think  that  a  man  like  my 
chief  would  look  for  only  one  woman's  face 
in  that  crowd,  and  regard  it,  with  all  its 
blemishes,  as  a  precious  thing. 

Duke  had  separated  himself  from  the 
little  group  and  was  swinging  his  hat  to 

263 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Dorothea;  but  I  could  not  explain  why  the 
two  men  were  not  standing  nearer  together 
and  what  was  the  meaning  of  the  wheeled 
chair,  with  the  nurse's  head  rising  above 
the  back.  The  identity  of  the  person  in  the 
chair  was  hidden  by  a  tiny  black  frilled 
parasol  with  a  handle  bent  in  the  middle  so 
that  it  could  be  used  for  a  shield.  Did  I  know 
that  little  old-fashioned  sunshade?  I  did!  It 
was  the  property  of  some  one  whose  belong- 
ings had  a  certain  air  of  difference  from 
those  of  other  people.  She  lifted  it  at  last,  as 
we  came  close  to  the  dock,  and  I  met  Ellen 
Winthrop's  affectionate,  welcoming  glance. 
Her  eyes  swam  in  unshed  tears,  and  mine 
were  so  wet  I  could  see  only  dimly  that  her 
beautiful  hair  was  a  shade  whiter,  her  face 
paler  and  thinner,  that  she  had  aged  mys- 
teriously in  a  month,  and  the  hand  that  was 
holding  the  parasol  trembled  like  a  leaf.  She 
had  been  very  ill;  there  was  no  doubt  of  that. 
She  had  been  ordered  a  voyage,  and  I  felt 
that  she  had  chosen  this  one  because  she 
knew  dive's  wish.  That  meant  she  was  will- 

264 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


ing  to  welcome  me  into  the  heart  of  the 
family;  perhaps  even  that  she  wished  to  help 
me  fit  myself  to  take  her  own  unique  place 
in  her  brother's  life.  Oh,  what  joy  to  feel  that 
I  could  not  only  take  freely  all  that  my 
chief  wanted  to  give  me,  but  that  I  could 
be  of  real  service  to  her! 

Down  the  precipitous  landing-steps  we 
went,  Dolly,  as  usual,  well  in  the  front.  Clive 
and  Duke  were  at  the  foot  awaiting  us,  and, 
as  we  felt  a  sense  of  safety  in  the  midst  of 
strangers,  Dolly  flung  herself  at  once  into 
Duke's  arms,  while  all  the  male  watchers  on 
deck  or  dock  gazed  at  him  with  envy.  Find- 
ing myself  unobserved  in  this  spectacular 
tableau,  I  could  give  Clive  my  own  greeting 
as  my  heart  dictated,  while  I  told  him  that 
his  sister's  presence  answered  my  last  doubt. 

When  Dolly  withdrew  from  the  embrace 
of  her  adoring  swain  —  rosy,  joyous,  un- 
abashed —  she  adjusted  her  hat  from  its 
perilous  position  on  one  side  of  her  head, 
and  gazed  upon  Clive  and  me  with  unflatter- 
ing astonishment  mixed  with  awe. 

265 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"You,  too,  perfidious  Charlotte!  You 
needn't  deny  it;  I  saw  you  both — just 
finishing!" 

"Not  at  all,  Miss  Valentine,"  laughed 
Clive,  putting  out  his  hand  to  shake  hers. 
"We  were,  in  fact,  only  just  beginning." 

"And  to  think  I  never  suspected,  when 
I  might  have  known  that  you  are  the  only 
man  in  the  world  learned  enough  and  good 
enough  for  Charlotte." 

"You  were  too  absorbed  in  your  own 
affairs  to  think  about  mine,  missy,"  I  said. 
"Now,  will  you  be  modest  and  grateful  for 
the  rest  of  your  life,  since  you  see  that  my 
Mr.  Winthrop  has  brought  your  young  man 
to  St.  Thomas  in  a  discreet  manner  that 
you  never  could  have  achieved  by  yourself? 
Take  me  to  your  sister,  Clive;  I  want  her  to 
know  without  a  moment's  delay  how  I  appre- 
ciate her  coming  with  you." 

"She  has  been  terribly  ill,  Charlotte.  For 
ten  days  after  you  left  it  was  almost  hope- 
less, but  at  length  she  rallied,  and  since  the 
doctor  insisted  on  a  change  of  climate  her 

266 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


whole  heart  was  bent  on  coming  here.  She 
has  long  suspected  our  feeling  for  each  other, 
and  you  will  be  such  a  joy  to  her  as  well  as 
to  me,  my  dear." 

"It  makes  me  so  happy,  so  happy!"  I 
faltered,  my  eyes  swimming  with  tears.  "I 
was  so  unwilling  to  take  all  and  give  so  little 
—  now  it  will  be  more!" 

"Don't  go  off  by  yourselves,"  said  Dolly. 
"Be  dignified  and  indifferent,  like  us.  Take 
Mr.  Winthrop's  arm  and  I'll  take  Duke's." 
(Here  she  suited  the  action  to  the  word.) 
"There's  the  Governor,  expecting  us  to 
luncheon  and  not  knowing  us  by  sight.  He 
won't  suspect  what  has  happened;  but  after 
saluting  him  and  asking  him  to  put  some 
more  plates  on  the  table,  we'll  all  walk  up 
to  Miss  Winthrop's  chair,  and  you  and  I  will 
say:  'Good-morning,  dear  lady.  Let  us  intro- 
duce to  you  "our  new  possessions,"  our  spoils 
of  travel,  our  souvenirs  of  a  sea-voyage.' 
Then  Duke  and  Mr.  Winthrop  will  make  a 
profound  obeisance,  and  all  will  be  over." 
And  so  it  turned  out!  Everybody  laughed 

267 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


and  chatted;  Dorothea  kissed  Ellen  Win- 
throp's  hand  prettily,  coquetted  with  Clive, 
and  began  to  lay  siege  to  the  nurse's  heart, 
while  she  riveted  the  chains  by  which  she 
held  Marmaduke  Hogg  in  bondage.  She 
was  in  high  spirits,  but  she  was  distinctly 
nervous,  and  whenever  she  introduced  her 
fiance  to  one  of  her  fellow  voyagers  she 
showed  a  heightened  color  as  she  slid  quickly 
over  his  surname. 

Presently  Clive  withdrew  a  little  distance 
to  talk  with  the  Governor's  secretary,  and 
Dorothea  caught  the  captain  on  his  way 
from  the  ship  and  entangled  him  in  a 
merry  conversation  with  Miss  Winthrop. 
This  gave  Marmaduke  an  opportunity  to 
take  me  aside.  I  suspected  that  he  wanted 
to  confide  in  me  that  Mrs.  Valentine  had 
made  one  last  determined  refusal  to  receive 
him  as  a  son-in-law,  and  that  after  the  next 
few  days  of  sea-voyaging  we  should  meet  an 
irate  parent  at  the  landing  in  New  York  and 
that  there  would  be  metaphorical  "wigs  on 
the  green." 

268 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


I  confess  in  that  moment,  as  I  envisaged 
the  recalcitrant  Dolly  locked  in  her  room 
and  fed  upon  bread  and  water,  that  I  wished 
Mr.  Marmaduke  Hogg  had  remained  in 
Washington,  which  is  the  scene  of  so  many 
battles  that  one  more  or  less  would  not  be 
obvious  on  the  horizon.  On  the  contrary,  his 
first  words  were  a  surprise. 

"Miss  Clifford,"  he  said,  "no  one  knows 
what  Dolly  and  I  owe  to  you!" 

"But  what  have  I  done?"  I  inquired 
laughingly. 

"Oh,  a  thousand  things!  Taken  my  part 
gently  and  kindly  with  Mrs.  Valentine;  and 
above  all,  allowed  Dolly  to  come  on  this 
journey  with  you,  when  she  was  so  utterly 
confused  by  her  mother's  objections  to  our 
marriage  that  she  did  not  know  which  way 
to  turn.  —  It's  rather  a  big  job  for  a  girl  to 
decide  whether  she'll  break  her  mother's 
heart,  or  her  lover's!" 

"Mrs.  Valentine  has  no  heart,  save  in  the 
physiological  sense,"  I  interrupted. 

"Well,  I  have  cut  the  Gordian  knot," 

269 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


continued  Marmaduke.  "I  don't  want  Dolly 
to  know  just  at  first,  but  I  have  set  plans 
in  motion  for  changing  my  name  back  to 
Forrest!" 

"  But  you  lose  six  thousand  dollars  a  year ! " 
I  exclaimed. 

"It  does  n't  matter.  I  am  offered  a  New 
York  partnership  when  the  war  is  over  and 
it  won't  be  very  long  before  I  make  it  up." 

"And  what  about  your  dear  old  uncle?" 

"That  hurts  me,  I  confess.  But  I  think  if 
departed  spirits  know  nothing  of  our  doings, 
it  does  n't  matter,  and  if  they  know  every- 
thing, uncle  must  have  kept  an  eye  on  Mrs. 
Valentine  and  will  understand." 

"I  never  thought  of  leaving  the  whole 
matter  to  ' uncle,'"  I  observed. 

"I'm  not  shifting  the  responsibility;  I'm 
simply  counting  on  him.  I  always  counted 
on  him  and  he  always  trusted  me.  If  I  could 
get  him  on  a  spiritual  long-distance  tele- 
phone, he  would  see  that  I  cannot  part  an 
only  daughter  from  her  only  mother." 

."Yes,  I've  often  thought  only  children 

270 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


were  a  mistake;  they  bulk  too  heavily  in  the 
foreground.  Where  there  are  six,  each  one 
cannot  take  up  so  much  room." 

"Exactly.  You  see  we've  got  to  go  to  her 
mother's  to  dinner  every  other  Sunday  when 
our  cook 's  out.  I  've  learned  that  much 
about  matrimony  in  advance." 

"Perhaps  you  won't  be  invited!" 

"Well,  that  would  be  even  worse.  Besides, 
she  has  given  up  her  apartment  and  leased 
a  charming  house." 

"Does  she  think  that  you  and  Dolly  are  to 
live  with  her?" 

"If  she  does  she  is  mistaken,  but  to  do 
her  justice  I  don't  believe  that's  her  idea  at 
all.  However,  she  is  all  settled  and  await- 
ing Dorothea.  The  house  is  going  to  be  a 
surprise." 

"Dolly  will  like  it;  the  apartment  did  n't 
suit  her  taste." 

"A  pompous  butler  is  installed.  I  dis- 
covered all  this  when  I  went  to  call,  and 
conscientiously  told  her  I  was  going  to  St. 
Thomas  with  the  Winthrops.  He  is  elderly, 

Z71 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


of  course,  as  all  the  middle-aged  and  young 
butlers  are  in  khaki;  and  wonderful  to  re- 
late, there  is  also  an  aged  but  well-preserved 
footman.  He  dwells  on  the  lower  floor, 
and  communicates  with  the  butler  on  the 
floor  above,  where  the  drawing-  and  dining- 
rooms  are,  by  means  of  a  speaking-tube. 
The  moment  the  footman  approached  me 
with  his  'What  name,  sir?'  and  bawled 
*MR.  HOGG!'  through  the  tube,  the  butler  re- 
peating it  resonantly  to  the  boudoir  where 
Mrs.  Valentine  was  sitting;  at  that  mo- 
ment I  knew  why  she  had  taken  the  house. 
It  was  for  the  speaking-tubes !  I  have  never 
before  seen  a  small  house  in  Washington 
with  these  annunciators.  The  butler  and 
footman  were  engaged  for  the  same  purpose, 
that  of  bawling  'MR.  HOGG'  whenever  I 
called  upon  Dolly.  After  my  interview  with 
Mrs.  Valentine,  which  was  placid,  for  she 
thanked  me  coldly  for  telling  her  of  my  pro- 
posed journey  and  said  she  should  go  her- 
self, but  imagined  that  the  steamers  were 
small  and  uncomfortable,  and  the  food  vil- 
272 


TWO  ON  A  TOUR 


lainous;  however,  we  would  talk  the  whole 
matter  over  in  New  York  and  come  to  some 
decision;  she  then  went  to  the  speaking- 
tube  and  called,  *  Brown!  Ask  Jenkins  to 
show  Mr.  Hogg  out,  please!' 

"I  left  the  lady  and  went  at  once  to  Clive 
Winthrop  for  advice  and  began  the  process 
of  amputating  my  surname.  Perhaps  I  shall 
not  call  at  the  X  Street  house  till  the  wed- 
ding is  over,  and  when  the  footman  asks: 
'What  name,  sir?'  I  shall  say:  'My  bachelor 
name,  as  you  may  remember,  was  Hogg,  but 
I  am  now  married  and  it  is  Forrest!'" 


PHILIPPA'S  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 


PHILIPPA'S 
NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

A  STUDY  IN  NOBLENESS 

Stanwood  Sanitarium, 
Mapleton,  Pennsylvania, 

June,  19-— 

FIRST  WEEK 

Monday 

THE  door  has  just  closed  behind  one  of  the 
most  eminent  physicians  in  the  State,  and 
I  am  no  longer  Philippa  Armstrong,  but  a 
case  of  neurasthenia,  an  inmate  of  Room 
Number  17,  which  has  a  yellow  placard 
over  its  entrance;  a  placard  announcing  that 
no  callers  are  allowed  within,  save  with  the 
special  permission  of  Dr.  Levi  Stanwood. 
At  present  the  placard  is  the  only  thing  I 
enjoy  about  the  institution;  that,  at  least, 
promises  peace;  at  all  events,  such  peace  as 
can  be  found  outside  of  one's  own  soul. 

I   am  counseled  to  have  complete  rest, 
cheerful  surroundings,  abstinence  from  news- 

277 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


papers  and  letters,  sound  sleep,  careful  and 
nourishing  diet,  freedom  from  anxiety,  gen- 
tle tonics,  with  electrical  and  other  treat- 
ments underlined  upon  a  printed  list. 

The  head  physician  (who  is  a  genius  in 
the  way  of  diagnosis,  seeing  through  the 
human  system  as  if  it  were  plate  glass)  has 
made  a  careful  study  of  my  symptoms  and 
written  my  Cousin  Sarah  that  all  I  need  is 
six  or  eight  weeks  of  his  care  to  be  quite 
myself  again. 

How  little  they  understand  us  women, 
after  all  —  poor,  blind,  unsuspicious  doctors! 
My  heart-beats,  my  color,  my  temperature, 
my  pulse,  my  blood  pressure,  even  my 
tongue,  all  these  have  told  no  tales  to  the 
scientific  eye,  and  as  it  was  literally  im- 
possible for  Dr.  Stanwood  to  discern  my 
malady,  it  was  equally  beyond  him  to  sug- 
gest a  remedy.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  I  need 
to  make  and  keep  me  well  is  large  and 
constant  doses  of  Richard  Morton,  Esq.,  of 
Baltimore;  but  who  would  confess  that  to 
a  doctor? 

278 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

Cousin  Sarah  does  not  suspect  the  state 
of  things,  the  gentleman  himself  is,  I  trust, 
quite  ignorant,  and  the  doctor  will  waste 
upon  me  all  the  wealth  of  curative  agencies 
at  his  command  without  effecting  the  least 
change  in  my  condition. 

Richard  Morton  is  an  orphan;  so  am  I. 
He  is  young,  strong,  good-looking,  clever, 
and  poor.  I  am  the  first,  second,  and  fifth;  as 
to  one's  own  beauty  and  cleverness  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  speak  impartially. 

I  have  thought  for  nearly  six  months,  and 
indeed  I  am  still  inclined  to  think,  that  Rich- 
ard Morton  loves  me,  and  I  was  equally  cer- 
tain, until  a  few  weeks  ago,  that  he  was  only 
awaiting  a  suitable  opportunity  to  declare  his 
love  and  ask  me  to  marry  him.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind,  whenever  he  should  put  the 
important  question,  to  answer  him  frankly 
and  joyously  in  the  affirmative;  not  because 
he  is  the  handsomest  or  most  brilliant  or 
most  desirable  person  in  the  world,  but  be- 
cause for  sheer  lovableness  and  husbandliness 
he  is  unsurpassed  and  unsurpassable. 

279 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


In  March  Cousin  Sarah  made  a  visit  to 
Germantown  and  met  there  a  Mrs.  Taunton, 
Richard  Morton's  widowed  aunt.  When  the 
intimacy  had  progressed  sufficiently  Mrs. 
Taunton  told  Cousin  Sarah  one  day  that  she 
hoped  her  nephew  would  eventually  marry  a 
certain  Amy  Darling,  a  near  neighbor  of  hers; 
that  Miss  Darling's  father  and  Richard's  had 
been  friends  from  boyhood ;  and  that  they  had 
always  planned  a  marriage  between  the  two 
young  people,  each  an  only  child. 

Of  course,  Mr.  Darling,  who  died  only  this 
winter,  did  not  indulge  in  any  such  melodra- 
matic or  bookish  nonsense  as  setting  down 
commands  or  desires  in  his  will,  nor  were  any 
of  his  bequests  dependent  upon  them.  He  did 
talk  with  his  daughter,  however,  during  his 
last  illness,  and  he  did  leave  Richard  Morton 
a  letter  expressing  his  regard  and  confidence, 
and  saying  that  as  his  daughter  was  entirely 
without  relatives  he  should  have  felt  much 
happier  had  he  seen  her  married  before  his 
death.  If  he  had  stopped  there  all  would  have 
been  well,  but  he  went  on.  He  knew,  he  said, 

280 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

that  Amy  was  one  of  the  sweetest  and  most 
attractive  girls  in  the  world,  and  if  a  mutual 
affection  should  grow  out  of  her  acquaintance 
with  Richard  he  would  be  glad  to  know  that 
the  fortune  he  had  made  by  his  own  energy 
might  be  a  basis  for  the  future  prosperity 
and  business  success  of  his  old  friend's 
son. 

Cousin  Sarah  came  home  from  German- 
town  quite  excited  by  this  romance  and 
discussed  it  with  me  daily,  in  exasperating 
unconsciousness  that  I  could  feel  the  least 
distaste  for  the  subject. 

"It  seems  almost  providential,  Philippa," 
she  said,  over  her  knitting. 

"Providential  for  which  of  them?"  I 
asked,  stabbing  my  sheet  of  music  paper 
with  the  pen,  while  I  tried  in  vain  to  think 
how  many  eighth  notes  would  fill  a  meas- 
ure. 

" For  both;  though  I  was  really  thinking  of 
Mr.  Morton.  His  business  is  one  that  pe- 
culiarly requires  capital;  then  again  he  has 
many  interests  in  Philadelphia,  and  there  is 

281 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


that  beautiful  place  in  Germantown  with 
house,  stable,  horses,  and  gardens  all  ready 
for  him." 

"And  the  girl,  too;  don't  forget  her,"  I 
responded.  "Though  some  men  don't  care 
for  these  ready-to-wear  wives;  they  prefer 
to  look  about  and  to  choose." 

"He  would  have  to  look  a  long  distance  be- 
fore he  found  any  one  to  compare  with  Miss 
Darling,  either  in  beauty  or  suitableness," 
said  Cousin  Sarah,  thereby  injecting  the  first 
drop  of  poison  in  my  blood  and  starting  me 
on  the  downward  path  toward  nervous  pros- 
tration. 

"Miss  Darling  is  a  man's  woman,"  she 
continued,  unconsciously  giving  me  another 
push;  "the  type  with  which  neither  you  nor 
I  have  anything  in  common,  but  which  we 
know  to  be  irresistible." 

Now  Cousin  Sarah  is  fifty-five,  thin,  angu- 
lar, erect,  uncompromising.  I  love  and  re- 
spect her,  but  do  not  care  to  be  lumped  with 
her  in  affairs  of  the  heart,  at  least  not  for 
thirty  years  to  come;  and  although  I  think  it 

282 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

is  disgusting  to  be  labeled  a  "man's  woman" 
it  is  insufferable  to  be  told  that  one  is  not  I 

"  I  can  see  Amy  Darling  in  my  mind's  eye," 
I  ventured;  "blonde,  dimply,  fluffy  as  to 
head,  willowy  as  to  figure  so  as  to  cling  the 
better,  blue  eyes  swimming  in  unshed  tears, 
and  a  manner  so  exquisitely  feminine  that 
she  makes  all  the  other  women  in  her  vicin- 
ity appear  independent  and  mannish.  But 
not  all  men  care  for  pets,  Cousin  Sarah  — 
some  of  them  prefer  companions." 

"A  pet  is  a  companion,"  remarked  Cousin 
Sarah  casually  as  she  left  the  room,  giving  me 
thereby  an  entirely  new  and  most  unpleasant 
thought. 

I  have  known  Richard  Morton  for  many 
months,  and  although  I  have  met  him  very 
often  at  other  places,  he  has  been  a  constant 
visitor  at  our  house.  If  he  has  had  any  resem- 
blance to  a  possible  suitor  why  has  n't  Cousin 
Sarah  discovered  it?  Is  she  deaf  and  blind,  or 
have  my  ears  and  eyes  played  me  false?  Am  I 
so  undesirable  that  it  would  never  cross  her 
mind  that  a  man  might  fall  in  love  with  me? 

283 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Hardly,  for  she  is  well  aware  that  several  men 
have  expressed  their  willingness  to  annex  my 
poverty-stricken  charms. 

As  I  look  back  upon  the  weeks  that  fol- 
lowed the  interview  with  Cousin  Sarah  I  see 
that  Richard  was  never  the  same  after  he 
received  Mr.  Darling's  letter.  I  felt  a  name- 
less difference.  It  was  not  only  that  I  saw 
him  less  frequently,  but  that  he  gave  me  less 
of  himself  when  I  did  see  him.  I,  too,  was  on 
guard  and  never  succeeded  in  being  quite 
natural.  I  am  not  so  foolish  as  to  give  up  to 
another  girl  a  man  who  loves  me,  simply  be- 
cause she  is  rich.  The  thought  that  worries 
me  night  and  day  is  this:  if  at  the  moment  he 
only  feels  for  me  friendship,  ought  I  to  let  it 
grow  into  love  when  there  is  another  woman 
who  could  give  him  with  herself  everything 
he  needs  to  assure  his  career?  With  Philippa 
Armstrong  for  a  wife  he  will  have  to  work  un- 
ceasingly, and  unless  fortune  is  particularly 
kind  he  may  not  achieve  a  large  success  for 
many  years.  If  he  marries  Amy  Darling  (soft, 
silly,  spineless  little  name!)  he  has  house, 

284 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

lands,  and  money,  all  the  influence  of  her 
father's  former  business  associates,  and  has, 
besides,  carried  out  his  own  father's  wishes. 

This  is  considerable;  quite  enough  to  make 
a  man  reflect  and  vacillate,  unless  he  is  so 
deeply  in  love  already  that  no  temptation  is 
strong  enough  to  assail  him. 

Richard  Morton,  I  know,  likes  to  dance 
with  me,  sing  with  me,  golf  with  me,  talk 
with  me,  consult  with  me  about  his  affairs, 
write  letters  to  me;  and  more  than  that,  he 
doesn't  like  to  have  other  men  usurp  these 
privileges;  but  I  am  not  prepared  to  say 
that  he  would  pine  away  if  circumstances 
removed  me  altogether  from  his  path.  At  any 
rate,  these  perplexities  have  been  too  much 
for  my  peace  of  mind,  and  when  Richard 
Morton  announced  that  he  had  business 
which  would  keep  him  in  Philadelphia  for  a 
month  I  began  to  feel  physically  ill  and  un- 
able to  bear  Cousin  Sarah's  sympathy,  her 
curiosity,  even  at  last  her  proximity.  When 
the  doctor  advised  my  coming  here  to  this 
quiet,  restful  place  I  eagerly  embraced  the 

285 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


opportunity  simply  because  I  could  be  alone, 
and  because  I  need  not  meet  Richard  until  he 
had  enjoyed  a  full  month  of  Amy  Darling's 
society,  either  succumbing  to  its  fascination 
or  resisting  it,  as  the  case  might  be. 

Would  it  be  nobler  of  me  to  give  him  up 
before  he  is  really  mine,  knowing  that  in  this 
way  I  am  advancing  his  worldly  interests? 
This  is  the  question  that  I  hope  solitude 
will  help  me  to  answer,  but  its  complications 
and  side-issues  are  so  many  that  I  feel  dazed 
by  their  number  and  their  difficulty.  I  went 
to  sleep  last  night  echoing  the  old  negro's 
prayer:  "Thou  knowest  what's  about  right, 
Lord.  Now  do  it!" 

Tuesday 

8  A.M.  —  Nurse  gives  me  an  alcohol  bath. 

8.30  —  She  takes  my  pulse  and  tempera- 
ture and  enters  them  in  the  Bedside  Record 
Book,  afterwards  reading  me  my  diet-list.  It 
seems  I  do  not  belong  to  the  favored  class, 
which,  to  be  cured,  is  stuffed  with  pleasant 
things  to  eat;  my  symptoms  demand  a  sim- 
ple, unexciting  bill  of  fare. 

286 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

9  o'clock  —  Breakfast. 

Fruit  in  season. 

(This  is  its  only  name,  but  everybody  knows  it 
by  sight.) 

Poweretta  Grits  with  Cream. 

Graham  Muffins. 
Wheatoata  Process  Coffee. 

10.30  —  Hot  fomentations. 
11.15  —  Drop  of  blood  extracted  from  ear 
and  subjected  to  examination. 
11.30  —  Glass  of  Certified  Milk. 
12  —  Visit  from  physician. 

1  —  Dinner. 

Barley  Broth. 

Lamb  Chop  —  Hominy  or  Rice. 

Bread-and-butter  Pudding 

Custard  Sauce. 

2  to  3  —  Silent  hour. 
3.30  —  Static  electricity. 
4.15  —  Weight  taken. 
4.30  —  Cold  pack. 

5  —  Cup  of  Predigested  Maltese  Milk. 
5.30  —  Visit  from  head  nurse. 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


6.30  —  Supper. 

Cornetta  Mush. 

Poached  Egg  on  Whole- Wheat  Toast. 
Sterilized  Stewed  Apples  —  Zephyrettes. 

Cup  of  Somnolina. 

(A  beverage  from  which  everything  pleasant  and 
harmful  has  been  extracted  by  a  beneficent  process.) 

7.30  —  Miss  Blossom,  the  nurse,  insists  on 
reading  to  me.  It  is  not  a  good  performance 
but  it  does  n't  matter.  I  know  that  Dick  and 
Amy  Darling  are  just  starting  for  the  thea- 
ter. 

8.30  —  Tepid  sponge  bath. 

9  —  Massage. 

9.30  —  Glass  of  peptonized  water. 
9.45  —  Temperature  and  pulse  taken. 

10  —  Lights  out. 

Never  in  all  my  twenty-five  years  of  life 
have  I  passed  a  busier  or  more  exhausting 
day. 

Wednesday 

PRECISELY  like  Tuesday  save  for  some  new 
experiences  in  diet.  There  was  a  mild  process- 

288 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

drink  called  Cocoatina;  Teaette  also  made 
its  appearance.  There  were  dolls'  mattresses 
of  shredded  excelsior  moistened  with  milk; 
nut  salad,  and  Grahamata  mush.  I  could 
never  have  supposed  so  many  new  cereals 
could  be  invented. 

There  is  mush  in  the  evening,  mush  in  the  morning, 
Mush  when  it's  looked  for  and  mush  without  warning. 

It  is  rather  like  the  immortal  "Charge  of 
the  Light  Brigade  " : 

Oats  to  the  right  of  them, 

Corn  to  the  left  of  them, 

Wheat  to  the  north  of  them, 

Grits  to  the  south  of  them, 

Into  the  Valley  of  Mush  rode  the  two  hundred. 

Thursday 

I  WAS  allowed  to  sit  on  my  balcony  for  an 
hour  this  morning.  This  would  have  been  a 
pleasant  change  had  I  not  heartily  disliked  at 
first  sight  my  next-door  neighbor  who  was 
sitting  on  the  adjoining  balcony.  At  noon  she 
sent  me  a  bunch  of  pansies  and  her  card: 
Mrs.  Grosvenor  Chittenden-Ffollette. 

289 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Among  fifty  or  sixty  attendants  there  are 
always  a  few  who  gossip  in  spite  of  repeated 
warnings  from  the  authorities.  Sometimes  it  is 
a  young  nurse,  sometimes  a  masseuse,  a  man- 
icure or  a  shampooer,  but  there  are  always 
those  who  retail  the  news,  mostly  innocent 
news,  of  an  institution  like  this.  Cold-pack- 
ing, or  rubbing,  or  spraying,  or  electrifying,  or 
brushing,  or  polishing  —  all  these  operations 
open  the  flood-gates  of  speech  and  no  dam- 
ming process  is  effectual.  Miss  Phoebe  Blos- 
som is  the  herald  who  proclaims  tidings  of 
various  kinds  in  my  room,  and  there  is  also  a 
neophyte  in  the  electricity  department  who 
is  always  full  of  information  and  quite  unable 
to  retain  it.  It  would  be  almost  more  than  hu- 
man to  ask  them  to  be  silent  when  they  are 
the  only  links  with  the  world  outside.  A  sys- 
tem reduced  to  nothingness  by  a  supper  of 
Wheatoata  Coffee,  Cracker-dust  Croquettes, 
Cosmos  with  milk,  and  a  choice  of  Cerealina, 
Nuttetta,  Proteinetta,  or  Glucosa  is  in  no 
fit  state  to  resist  gossip. 

It  seems  that  Mrs.  Chittenden-Ffollette 
290 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

is  more  than  a  mere  woman  —  she  is  a  re- 
markable "case,"  and  has  proved  a  world- 
wide advertisement  for  this  sanitarium.  Dr. 
Stanwood  has  almost  effected  a  cure;  her  dis- 
ease has  had  to  be  named  and  her  symptoms 
have  been  written  up  in  all  the  medical  jour- 
nals. I  don't  know  what  sort  of  person  she 
was  before  she  became  a  case,  but  she  is  now 
a  greater  tyrant  than  Caligula  or  Catherine 
of  Russia.  As  to  her  disease,  she  has  those 
things  that  she  ought  not  to  have,  and  she 
has  not  those  things  that  she  ought  to  have, 
and  there  is  no  health  in  her;  or  at  least  there 
was  not  until  she  came  here  a  year  ago.  Now 
she  is  strong  enough  to  perambulate  in  the 
corridor  a  little  while  each  morning  or  be 
wheeled  along  the  board-walk  in  the  after- 
noon, and  when  she  hears  that  some  of  the 
other  patients  are  suffering,  she  sneers  at 
their  modest,  uninteresting  ailments  and 
glances  in  at  their  doors  with  half-disguised 
contempt.  You  know  the  expression  of  the 
prize  dog  who  is  borne  from  the  show  hung 
with  medals  and  ribbons  —  how  he  gazes 

291 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


on  the  little  mongrel  curs  that  gather  with 
the  crowd  in  the  streets? 

Her  name,  Chittenden-Ffollette,  is  of  as 
vital  importance  as  her  medical-journal  mal- 
ady. When  the  third  floor  is  in  dire  confu- 
sion; when  Mrs.  Parks  has  hysterics  and  Miss 
Simmons  is  crying  for  her  mother,  and  Mrs. 
Bell's  hot-water  bottle  has  burst  in  the  bed, 
and  Miss  Phipps  has  discovered  that  the  un- 
dergraduate has  bandaged  the  wrong  ankle, 
Miss  Blossom  sometimes  becomes  flustered 
and  hurried  and  calls  her  patient  Mrs.  Fol- 
lett,  whereupon  she  says,  "  Chittenden-Fioll- 
ette,  if  you  please!" 

If  by  any  chance  she  sees  the  Chittenden- 
Ffollette  without  the  hyphen  in  the  Nurses' 
Bedside  Record  Book  or  scribbled  on  the 
morning  paper  she  does  n't  need  any  stimu- 
lant the  rest  of  the  day.  The  omission  of  the 
hyphen  sends  up  her  pulse  and  temperature 
to  the  required  point  for  several  hours, 
though  there  is  always  a  reaction  afterward. 
I  've  told  Dr.  Levi  that  I  should  name  one 
of  her  complaints  hyphenitis.  The  occasional 

292 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

operation  performed  on  the  hyphen  by  Miss 
Blossom,  or  the  young  lady  at  the  station- 
ery counter,  might  be  called  hyphenotomy. 
Everybody  detests  Mrs.  Chittenden-Ffol- 
lette,  but  as  the  banner  patient  of  the  san- 
itarium she  must  be  treated  with  respectful 
consideration.  All  America's  most  skillful 
physicians  have  struggled  with  her  organism. 
They  have  tried  to  get  her  symptoms  into 
line,  so  to  speak,  so  as  to  deduce  some  the- 
ory from  the  grand  array  of  phenomena,  but 
the  symptoms  courteously  decline  to  point 
in  any  one  direction.  When  the  doctors  get 
seven  eighths  of  them  in  satisfactory  relation 
there  are  always  two  or  three  that  stay  out 
and  sulk,  refusing  to  collaborate  in  any  sort  of 
harmony.  They  act  precisely  like  an  obsti- 
nate jury,  in  that  they  calmly  refuse  to  agree, 
and  then  Mrs.  Chittenden-Ffollette  appeals 
to  a  higher  court  where  flaws  in  the  testi- 
mony are  always  found,  judgment  is  reversed, 
and  a  new  trial  ordered.  The  greatest  sur- 
geons in  Europe  have  left  the  bedsides  of 
crowned  heads  to  ponder  over  her  inscruta- 

293 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


ble  mysteries,  and  have  returned  to  their 
sovereigns  crushed  and  humbled.  All  this  at- 
tention would  have 'upset  a  stronger  charac- 
ter than  hers,  and  now  that  she  is  in  a  fair 
way  to  recover,  her  pride  will  have  its  inevi- 
table fall.  Though  much  more  agreeable  and 
docile  than  when  she  entered,  she  is  in  uni- 
formly low  spirits.  The  truth  is,  she  liked 
being  an  unsolved  mystery  and  she  is  a  good 
deal  nettled  at  being  found  at  last  both  sol- 
uble and  curable  —  obliged  to  live,  like  an 
ex-president,  on  the  glories  of  the  past. 

Friday 

BUCKLE,  in  his  "  History  of  Civilization," 
claims  that  men  and  women  are  divided  into 
three  classes.  The  first  and  lowest  talks  of 
persons,  the  second  of  things,  and  the  third 
and  highest,  of  ideas.  I  should  divide  the  hu- 
man race  into  four,  instead  of  three  classes, 
and  name  as  the  lowest  those  persons  who 
discuss  their  symptoms.  The  patients  here 
are  counseled  not  to  do  it,  so  the  vice  is  re- 
duced to  a  minimum,  being  practiced,  say, 

294 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

not  more  than  three  out  of  the  fourteen  wak- 
ing hours. 

Swinging  in  a  hammock  in  a  shady  nook 
this  afternoon  the  conversation  that  floated 
to  me  under  my  distant  tree  was  somewhat 
after  this  fashion. 

Mrs.  A.  "Once  I  had  neurasthenia.  For 
three  months  I  could  n't  be  moved  in  bed, 
and  for  nine  weeks  I  could  n't  turn  my  head 
on  the  pillow." 

Mrs.  B.  ]  "  Mercy  1" 

Mrs.  C.  V"Oh,  Mrs.  A.!" 

Mrs.  D.J  "Good  gracious!" 

Mrs.  E.  "Cerebro-spinal  meningitis  is 
worse  than  neurasthenia.  I  had  it  four  years 
ago,  and  the  doctor  said  he'd  never  seen  a 
woman  live  that  was  as  ill  as  I  was.  One 
night  my  temperature  was  167." 

Mrs.  C.  -\  "Goodness!" 

Mrs.  B.  y  "That's  pretty  high!" 

Mrs.  A.)  "Are  you  sure?" 

Mrs.  E.  "Yes,  I  'm  perfectly  sure,  or  at 
least  I  think  I  am;  I  am  seldom  wrong  on  fig- 


ures." 


295 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Mrs.  A.  "I  asked,  because  I've  noticed 
here  that  the  thermometers  register  only  1 10, 
and  I  wondered  how  they  measured  the  tem- 
perature when  it  rose  above  that  point." 

Mrs.  E.  (huffily).  "Probably  they  have 
extra  long  thermometers  for  extreme  cases." 

Mrs.  F.  "I  am  glad  that  in  this  sanitarium 
they  take  the  temperature  by  tucking  the 
barometer-thing  under  the  arm.  My  doctor 
at  home  always  puts  it  under  the  tongue,  and 
it  is  a  perfect  nuisance.  He  never  gets  it  well 
placed  but  that  I  think  of  something  I  want 
to  say.  Then,  of  course,  I  have  to  keep  still 
for  three  minutes,  which  seem  three  hundred, 
and  by  that  time  I  have  either  forgotten  it  or 
changed  my  mind,  so  there  I  am! " 

Mrs.  G.  "Just  after  my  youngest  child  was 
three  years  old  —  " 

Mrs.  F.  (interrupting).  "  I  was  going  to  say, 
when  Mrs.  E.  spoke  about  the  barometer, 
that  after  I  was  engaged  to  Mr.  F.  I  had  a 
dreadful  attack  of  brain  fever.  I  was  ill  in  bed 
three  months  and  they  could  n't  touch  a 
brush  to  my  hair  for  nine  days." 
296 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

Mrs.D.}  "Horrors!" 

Mrs.  E.  V  " Dreadful!" 

Mrs.  C.  J  "Heavens!" 

Mrs.  G.  (bravely).  "  Just  after  my  young- 
est child  was  three  — " 

Mrs.  X.  "A  man  patient  was  brought  on 
to  our  floor  this  morning." 

Mrs.  S.  "Our  floor  ?  I  wish  they  would  have 
separate  corridors  for  male  patients." 

Mrs.  X.  "This  gentleman  is  an  old  friend 
of  Dr.  Levi's.  His  wife  has  been  here  four 
weeks,  and  now  he's  been  taken  ill,  so  they've 
put  him  next  her  on  the  first  floor." 

Mrs.  S.  "I  don't  care,  I  hate  to  have  him 


near  us." 


Mrs.  B.  "Why?  He  's  perfectly  harmless; 
he  is  too  ill  to  move." 

Mrs.  C.  "I  'm  sure  I  wish  he  could!  Any- 
thing to  relieve  this  hideous  dullness.  What 's 
the  matter  with  him,  I  wonder!" 

Mrs.  D.  "I'll  ask  Miss  Oaks  when  I  have 
my  hot  fomentations   this   afternoon;   she 
knows  everything  and  she 's  as  generous  as  a 
prince  with  her  knowledge." 
297 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


Mrs.  G.  (patiently).  "Just  after  my  young- 
est child  was  — " 

A  nurse  passes  through  the  grove,  bearing 
a  sterilized  tray  with  peptonized  prepara- 
tions on  it. 

Mrs.  Y.  (calling  her).  " Nurse!  what's  the 
matter  with  the  new  man-patient  on  our 
floor?" 

Nurse  (discreetly).  "I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Y." 

Mrs.  X.  (as  the  nurse  vanishes).  "She  does, 
but  she's  a  stiff  thing!  Anyway,  I  heard  the 
attendants  whispering  about  him  in  the  cor- 
ridor before  breakfast.  Something  —  I  think 
it 's  an  organ  —  is  floating  about  in  him." 

All.  "Floating?  What  kind  of  an  organ? 
Horrors!" 

Mrs.  X.  "I  could  n't  understand  exactly. 
You  know  people  always  roar  if  they  have 
nothing  particular  to  say,  but  if  it  is  inter- 
esting they  whisper.  I  distinctly  heard  the 
word  'floating.'  I  don't  know  whether  it 's  one 
of  his  regular  organs,  or  something  he  swal- 
lowed accidentally." 

Mrs.  C.  (plaintively).  "Doctors  are  never 

298 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

satisfied.  If  anything  floats  they  want  to  get 
it  stationary,  and  if  it 's  stationary  they  want 
to  cut  it  loose." 

Mrs.  G.  "Just  after  my  youngest  child —  " 

Mrs.  B.  "They  say  Mrs.  H.  is  going  to 
leave  to-morrow;  she  does  n't  like  the  food  or 
the  service." 

Mrs.  E.  "Goodness,  she  has  all  the  ser- 
vice there  is  on  our  floor!  Nobody  else  gets 
a  chance!  She  spends  her  whole  silent  hour 
pushing  the  electric  button." 

Mrs.  D.  "Yes,  Miss  Oaks  declares  she 
Mays'  on  it.  She  says  that  the  head  nurse 
told  Mrs.  H.  she  must  ring  less  frequently, 
or  the  bell  would  be  removed.  Miss  Oaks  says 
the  patients  that  pay  the  smallest  rates  al- 
ways ring  the  bells  most.  It  is  n't  fair  that  a 
thirty-dollar  patient  should  annoy  a  whole 
row  of  eighty-dollar  ones  and  prevent  their 
bells  from  being  answered." 

Mrs.  X.  "There's  nothing  made  out  of 
Mrs.  H.  at  thirty  dollars  a  week.  She  was  as 
contented  as  possible  last  night,  but  this 
morning  she  wanted  her  bed  in  the  other 

299 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


corner,  awnings  put  on  the  windows,  and  the 
bureau  changed  for  a  chiffonier.  Come,  we 
must  all  go  in  for  treatment  —  it  wants  five 
minutes  of  four." 

Mrs.  G.,  in  despair,  as  she  sees  the  occu- 
pants of  the  hammocks  dispersing,  almost 
shrieks:  "JusT  AFTER  MY  YOUNGEST — " 

But  the  ladies,  for  some  reason  or  other,  do 
not  care  to  hear  anything  about  Mrs.  G.'s 
youngest,  and  she  is  obliged  to  seek  another 
audience. 

Saturday 

THE  doctor  found  me  "over-treated"  this 
morning  and  advised  a  day  of  quiet,  with  a 
couple  of  hours  on  the  roof-garden  or  under 
the  trees. 

I  have  heard  at  various  times  sighs  of  wear- 
iness or  discontent  or  pain  issuing  from  the 
room  opposite  mine,  and  this  afternoon  when 
Miss  Blossom  had  gone  into  Number  19  to  sit 
with  the  haughty  Mrs.  Chittenden-Ffollette 
I  stole  across  the  corridor  and  glanced  in  at 
the  half-open  door  of  Number  18. 

300 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

The  quaintest  girl  raised  herself  from  a 
mound  of  sofa-pillows 'and  exclaimed :  "Why, 
you  beautiful  thing!  Are  you  Number  17? 
I  did  n't  know  you  looked  like  that!" 

"It's  very  kind  of  you,"  I  answered, 
blushing  at  this  outspoken  greeting;  "but  I 
am  not  beautiful  in  the  least;  it  is  because 
you  do  not  expect  much  from  a  person  who 
has  just  crept  out  of  bed.  I  don't  look  any 
better  when  I  am  dressed  for  a  party." 

"You  don't  need  to,"  she  said.  "Now  get 
on  my  bed  and  cuddle  under  the  afghan  and 
we'll  talk  till  Miss  Blossom  comes  back. 
Won't  she  beat  you  for  being  out  of  your 
room?  Why  are  you  here?  You  have  n't  the 
least  resemblance  to  a  rest  cure!  What  is  the 
matter  with  you?" 

"Backache,  sideache,  shoulderache,  head- 
ache, sensation  of  handcuffs  on  wrists,  balls 
and  chains  on  ankles,  lack  of  appetite,  and 


insomnia." 


"Is  that  all?  Have  n't  you  any  disease?" 
"I  believe  not,"  I  answered  humbly,  "but 
the  effect  is  the  same  as  if  I  had.  Why  are  you 

301 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


here?"  I  asked  in  return,  as  I  looked  admir- 
ingly at  her  shining  brown  hair,  plump,  rosy 
cheeks,  and  dancing  eyes. 

"I  came  here,  so  to  speak,  in  response  to 
an  ideal;  not  my  ideal  —  I  never  have  any 
—  but  Laura  Simonds's.  She  is  my  dearest 
friend  and  one  of  the  noblest  girls  you  ever 
knew.  She  said  the  separation  from  the  world 
would  do  us  both  good,  and  so  it  might  if  she 
could  have  stayed  to  keep  me  company.  Now 
she  has  the  world  and  I  have  the  separation." 

"She  is  n't  here,  then?" 

"No,  worse  luck!  She  is  always  working 
and  planning  for  the  good  of  others,  but  she 
is  constantly  meeting  with  ingratitude  and 
misunderstanding.  She  had  just  brought  me 
here  when  she  was  telegraphed  for  to  turn 
about  and  go  home.  You  see  she  had  sent  two 
ailing  slum  children  to  be  taken  care  of  at  her 
house,  and  it  proved  to  be  scarlet  fever, 
and,  of  course,  her  stepmother  took  it  the 
first  thing  —  she 's  a  hateful  person  and  takes 
everything  she  can  get  —  and  then  the  cook 
followed  suit.  Now  they  blame  Laura  and 

302 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

she  has  to  find  trained  nurses  and  settle 
everything  before  she  comes  back  to  me." 

"Then  you're  not  an  invalid?  I  thought 
you  were  in  pain  and  could  n't  reach  the  bell. 
That 's  the  reason  I  looked  in." 

"Oh,  dear,  no,  I  was  only  yawning!  I  came 
for  what  Laura  calls  the  healing  influence  of 
solitude,  but  Laura  thought  as  the  place  was 
so  expensive,  and  treatment  was  included, 
we'd  better  take  Turkish  baths,  massage, 
and  electricity,  they  're  so  good  for  the  com- 
plexion. I  have  a  little  table  to  myself  in 
the  convalescents'  dining-room  and  have  n't 
made  any  acquaintances.  I  can't  stand  their 
sweetbread  complexions  and  their  double 
chins.  The  patients  are  all  so  fat  they  might 
sing  Isaac  Watts'  hymn  in  unison:  'Much  of 
my  time  has  run  to  waist.' " 

"It  is  not  an  inspiring  assemblage,"  I 
agreed,  "though  I  haven't  seen  them  all 
together,  as  you  have." 

"And  they  think  of  nothing  but  them- 
selves, which  is  exactly  what  I  want  to  think 
about  —  myself,  I  mean.  There 's  one  charm- 

303 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


ing  girl  on  this  floor.  Something 's  the  matter 
with  her  solar  plexus  and  they  won't  allow 
her  to  talk,  so  we  have  had  some  nice  con- 
versations in  the  silent  hour.  They  Ve  told 
me  now  I  must  n't  call  again;  it  seems  that  I 
was  too  exciting.  Tell  me  something  about 
yourself,  Vashti  —  I  am  sure  that 's  your 
name,  or  Semiramis  or  Zenobia  or  Judith, 
and  if  it  is  n't  one  or  another  of  those  I  don't 
want  to  hear  what  it  is,  for  you  would  n't 
look  like  it." 

Just  here  a  page  brought  in  a  letter  which 
she  glanced  through  with  an  "Excuse  me, 
please." 

"Oh,  dear!  Now  Laura  can't  come  to-mor- 
row! She  is  certainly  the  most  unfortunate 
being  in  the  universe.  She  became  very  much 
interested  in  a  deaf  man  that  she  met  in  her 
settlement  work,  and  so  as  to  give  the  poor 
thing  employment  she  appointed  him  Super- 
intendent of  the  Working  Boys'  Club.  Now 
the  working  boys  refuse  to  play  with  him  and 
the  directors  have  had  a  meeting  asking 
Laura  to  remove  him  at  once.  I  do  think  they 

304 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

might  have  endured  him  one  season  when 
I  gave  him  a  twenty-dollar  ear-trumpet, 
but  some  people  are  utterly  unreasonable; 
and  here  I  am,  in  need  of  advice  every  mo- 
ment, and  Laura  kept  in  the  city!" 

"Have  n't  you  any  family?" 

"Not  a  soul;  have  you?" 

"No  one  but  a  cousin." 

"I  believe  nobody  nice  and  interesting 
has  a  family  nowadays.  Laura  has  no  one 
but  an  uncongenial  stepmother,  and  that 
is  the  reason  we  are  so  intimate.  I  am  so 
giddy  and  frivolous,  and  Laura  is  so  noble 
and  self-sacrificing  that  I  try  to  form  my- 
self on  her  now  and  then,  when  I  'm  not  too 
busy." 

"You  live  with  her,  do  you?" 

"Oh,  no!  I  don't  live  anywhere  in  particu- 
lar. Of  course  I  have  a  house  and  a  lady 
housekeeper,  but  she  doesn't  count.  I've 
been  staying  mostly  with  a  Mrs.  Beckett,  an 
old  friend  of  my  mother's.  She  is  the  dearest 
and  loveliest  woman  in  the  world  and  I  can't 
bear  to  be  away  from  her." 

305 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Why  can't  she  join  forces  with  you  if  you 
are  so  alone  in  the  world  ? " 

"Because  there  's  a  son." 

"Is  he  too  young,  or  too  old,  to  join 
forces?" 

"No,  he 's  just  right,  and  he'd  be  only  too 
glad  to  join  forces,  or  anything  else  that  had 
me  in  it,  but  he  must  n't,  and  that 's  the  rea- 
son Laura  made  me  come  here!"  And  with 
this  she  punched  the  sofa-pillows  rebelliously, 
looking  more  like  an  enraged  Angora  kitten 
than  anything  else. 

"It's  your  hour  for  cold  spray,"  said  Jim- 
my, the  page-boy,  peeping  in  at  the  crack  of 
the  door. 

"I'll  come!"  she  responded  unwillingly. 
"Now  do  steal  in  again,"  she  whispered, 
turning  to  me,  "for  I  must  talk  to  somebody, 
and  if  Laura  could  see  you  I  know  she  would 
think  you  safer  than  anybody  here." 

That  afternoon,  as  I  swung  in  my  ham- 
mock in  the  grove  below  the  sanitarium,  I 
looked  up  at  its  three  stories  of  height  and 
its  rows  upon  rows  of  windows,  and  wondered 

306 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

how  many  cases  of  neurasthenia  under  its  roof 
were  traceable  to  a  conflict  between  love  and 
conscience.  "I  begin  to  have  an  interest  in 
that  chatterbox  neighbor  of  mine,"  I  thought 
drowsily,"  and  that,  after  vowing  not  to  make 
an  acquaintance  in  this  place.  Love  will  be  a 
side  dish,  not  the  roast,  in  her  bill  of  fare,  if 
I  am  any  judge  of  character,  and  why  does 
her  Laura  attempt  to  stem  the  natural  tide 
of  events?  It  is  almost  wicked  of  the  Fates 
to  give  such  a  featherhead  any  problems  to 
solve ;  she  ought  to  have  her  what  's-his-name, 
Beckett,  if  she  wants  him,  particularly  if  he 
wants  her.  As  for  the  noble  Laura,  I  long  to 
make  her  acquaintance.  I  can  almost  hear 
the  uncongenial  stepmother,  the  feverish 
cook,  and  the  infuriated  directors,  clamoring 
for  a  providence  to  remove  her  from  their 
field  of  vision,  and  substitute  some  thor- 
oughly practical  and  ignoble  person  in  her 
stead." 

Sunday 

I  WAS  very  happy  all  the  morning;  so  happy 
that  I  forgot  my  tonics,  massage,  and  seda- 

307 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


live  tablets;  but  the  doctor  called  at  noon 
and  spoke  of  the  wonderful  way  in  which  my 
system  responded  to  his  remedies,  so  I  said 
nothing. 

Cousin  Sarah  forwarded  me  a  letter  from 
Richard  Morton,  who  is  superintending  some 
surveying  near  a  small  town  in  Pennsylvania. 
He  knows  that  I  am  not  well  and  away  from 
home  on  a  visit  to  the  country,  but,  of  course, 
he  is  not  aware  of  my  exact  whereabouts.  It 
was  just  one  of  his  gay,  friendly  letters,  with 
an  undertone  of  something  warmer  in  it. 
Among  other  things  he  said : 

How  weak  a  thing  is  man!  Now  that  you  are  so 
far  away  and  I  am  exiled  in  a  village  where  there 
is  but  one  post  a  day  I  suffer  pangs  of  hunger  for 
a  word  from  you.  So  far  the  one  daily  mail  would 
have  been  all  too  ample  for  your  desires,  since 
you  have  not  written  a  word  as  yet;  but  there  is 
always  the  hope !  I  have  been  speculating  to-night 
upon  the  frightful  risks  and  dangers  surrounding 
the  man  who  is  waiting  for  a  letter.  It  seems  to 
me  the  very  best  postal  service  is  inadequate  to 
take  care  of  a  letter  from  you  to  me!  Think  of  the 
uncertainties  and  perils  to  which  it  is  exposed  in 

308 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

transit!  You  give  it  to  a  maid  to  drop  in  a  pillar 
post-box,  but  she  may  forget  and  leave  it  in  her 
pocket,  or  she  may  lose  it.  Or  say  she  drops  it  in; 
it  must  be  removed  from  the  box  by  an  ordinary 
human  being  who  has  no  conception  of  the  issues 
involved  in  the  rigid  performance  of  this  particu- 
lar duty.  The  letter  is  then  taken  to  the  branch 
office  of  your  section,  then  to  the  general  post,  and 
then  to  the  railway,  where  new  dangers  menace 
its  precious  existence.  The  train  may  be  robbed; 
and  if  a  single  letter  is  stolen  it  will  be  yours  to 
me.  No  man  alive  could  resist  a  letter  of  yours 
after  he  had  once  read  one. 

Is  there  not  a  note  of  tenderness  here,  a 
note  that  has  crept  in  only  during  the  last 
few  months  ?  But  what  if  there  is  ?  It  occurred 
to  me  after  dinner  that  the  question  of  his 
feeling  for  me  is  not  the  only,  nor  even  the 
principal  one  to  be  considered.  The  point 
under  advisement  is,  shall  I  allow  him  to  love 
me  when  there  is  something  better  in  store 
for  him? 

Miss  Blossom  had  scarcely  left  my  room 
this  evening  when  I  heard  a  pattering  step 
and  a  hurried  tap  on  my  door.  On  my  saying 

309 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Come,"  my  opposite  neighbor  slipped  in 
and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  It  was  an 
unconventional  and  amusing  performance, 
but  I  did  n't  mind.  Somehow  one  could  n't 
mind  anything  with  such  a  spoiled  baby. 

"Good-evening,  Zuleika!"  she  said.  "No, 
you  need  n't  smile  and  raise  your  finger  at  me 
as  if  you  were  dying  to  tell  me  your  name  is 
Abigail!  Miss  Blossom  has  gone  for  the  night, 
has  n't  she?  I  thought  so.  You  know  it's  the 
nurses'  ball  this  evening,  and  there's  only 
one  attendant  on  duty  in  each  corridor  from 
now  to  half-past  nine.  May  I  have  this  big 
chair  by  the  window?  I  am  so  bored  with  this 
place  that  it  excites  me  even  to  think  how 
stupid  it  is.  I  almost  wish  I  had  a  symptom 
or  two,  just  by  way  of  sensation.  Did  you 
have  Somnolina  for  supper?  I  did,  and  some 
time  I  shall  make  a  scene  in  the  dining-room 
when  I  watch  the  hundred  and  fifty  dys- 
peptics simultaneously  lifting  cups  of  Tea- 
ette  or  Somnolina  to  their  parched  lips." 

"You  ought  to  be  ashamed,"  I  chided, 
"when  you  know  almost  every  one  who  is 

310 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

here  needs  to  be  put  upon  a  diet.  You  would 
n't  expect  champagne,  terrapin,  and  canvas- 
back  ducks?" 

"I  know  it;  don't  scold,  it  makes  you  look 
like  Cassandra.  Is  n't  the  moonlight  en- 
chanting, and  if  this  were  n't  a  health  resort 
would  n't  it  be  a  heaven  upon  earth? " 

The  broad,  unscreened  windows  were  wide 
open  and  vines  of  woodbine  or  honeysuckle 
framed  them  on  every  side.  A  lake  shone  like 
a  silver  mirror  in  the  distant  landscape  and 
the  elms  and  maples  and  chestnuts  swayed 
in  the  summer  breeze.  Little  groups  chatted 
on  the  broad  piazzas,  and  here  and  there  on 
a  rustic  bench  in  the  moonlight  sat  a  man 
and  a  woman  —  two  minds  with  but  a  single 
thought,  and  that  thought  his  or  her  own  so- 
lar plexus. 

It  was  an  hour  for  confidences,  and  I  re- 
member that  my  troubled  heart  cried  out 
for  a  strong,  tried  friendship  on  which  to 
draw  for  counsel  and  sympathy.  What  won- 
der, then,  that  the  Angora  kitten,  deprived 
of  her  Laura,  emptied  her  silky  little  head 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


of  some  of  its  worries,  divining  that  I  was 
older  and  graver  and  perhaps  would  find  her 
lost  ball  and  give  it  to  her  to  play  with 
again. 

"There's  no  telling  when  Laura  will  be 
here!"  she  exclaimed  despairingly.  "When 
there  is  any  duty  within  a  thousand  miles  she 
stays  toperform  it.  Mrs.  Becketthas  poisoned 
herself  with  mercury  and  Laura  thinks  she 
ought  to  go  and  nurse  her  for  a  day  or  two 
—  as  if  Mrs.  Beckett  had  n't  six  maids  and 
twenty  thousand  a  year  to  spend  in  nurses! 
Laura  can't  bear  Tom,  his  incurable  levity 
gets  on  her  nerves,  and  why  she  wants  to  mar- 
tyr herself  by  staying  in  the  house  with  him 
when  I  'd  be  only  too  glad  to  go,  passes  my 
comprehension!" 

(I  can't  explain  it,  but  at  this  juncture  I 
seemed  to  have  visions  of  Laura  flirting  with 
the  Beckett  during  the  Kitten's  absence.) 

"Sometimes,"  she  continued,  rippling 
along  as  if  natural  speech  had  been  denied 
her  for  hours,  "sometimes  I  wish  I  had  n't 
selected  such  a  superior  being  for  a  bosom 

312 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

friend,  and  then  again  I  despise  myself  for 
harboring  such  a  mean  feeling.  I  'm  forever 
trying  to  climb,  and  Laura  is  continually 
trying  to  drag  me  to  her  level,  but  I  suppose 
I  don't  belong  there,  and  that 's  the  reason 
I  keep  slipping  off  and  sliding  down.  At  this 
minute,  if  she  'd  let  me  be  the  groveling  little 
earthworm  I  am  by  nature,  I  could  marry 
Tom  Beckett  and  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is 
long." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  asked  sympa- 
thetically, though  rather  ashamed  to  drop 
a  plummet  into  so  shallow  a  brook.  "If  you 
love  his  mother  so  dearly,  and  love  him  too, 
and  are  sure  of  his  affection,  why  don't  you 
marry  him?  Is  n't  he  suitable?" 

"Oh,  yes;  he  's  almost  too  suitable;  that 's 
one  of  the  lions  in  the  way.  His  family  is  good, 
he  is  as  handsome  as  Apollo,  and  he  has  a 
much  larger  income  than  mine,  but  you  see 
there 's  another  man." 

"Another  man!  You  did  n't  mention  him 
yesterday." 

"  Did  n't  I  ?  How  funny !  But  after  all  it  was 

313 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


our  very  first  interview,  and  even  silly  I  have 
my  reserves." 

"Do  you  love  them  both  equally?"  I 
asked,  trying  to  keep  the  note  of  sarcasm 
out  of  my  voice. 

"Certainly  not.  I  care  nothing  about  any- 
body but  Tom  Beckett,  but  Laura  says  that 
such  a  marriage  will  simply  mean  a  life  of 
self-indulgent  luxury,  idleness,  and  pleasure. 
She  says  marriage  is  something  loftier  and 
nobler  than  pleasing  one's  self;  that  it  ought 
to  mean  growth  and  development  both  to 
the  man  and  the  woman.  She  says  that  I 
should  have  no  influence  on  Tom,  and  that 
I  need  somebody  strong  and  serious  to 
steady  me.  She  says  Tom  and  I  would  only 
frisk  through  life  and  leave  the  world  no  bet- 
ter or  wiser  than  we  found  it.  She  even  says" 
(and  here  she  turned  her  face  to  the  honey- 
suckles)—  "I  don't  like  to  repeat  it,  but 
Laura  is  so  advanced  she  makes  my  embar- 
rassment seem  simply  idiotic  —  she  even 
says  that  the  children  of  such  a  union  would 
be  incurably  light-minded  and  trivial;  and 

3H 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

oh,  Zuleika,  if  one  is  n't  a  bit  advanced  in 
any  way,  does  n't  it  seem  hard  to  keep  from 
marrying  somebody  you  love  just  for  the 
good  of  a  few  frivolous  children  you  Ve  never 
seen  in  your  life?" 

It  was  neither  the  place,  the  hour,  nor  the 
subject  for  laughter,  but  I  forgot  my  neuras- 
thenia and  gave  way  to  a  burst  of  whole- 
hearted mirth !  Every  second  of  time  seemed 
to  increase  the  unconscious  humor  of  her 
point  of  view,  and  only  fear  of  the  nurse  on 
duty  in  the  corridor  enabled  me  to  control 
myself  at  all. 

"Have  I  been  funny?"  she  asked  de- 
lightedly, as  she  drew  her  head  in  the  win- 
dow. "  I  never  can  see  my  own  jokes,  but  I  'm 
glad  to  have  amused  you,  only  I  did  hope 
for  a  little  sympathy.  Everybody  can't  be 
Zenobias  and  Vashtis  and  Lauras,  superior 
to  common  weaknesses!" 

"I  do,  I  do  sympathize,"  I  said,  wiping 
the  tears  of  merriment  from  my  eyes,  "and 
I  agree  with  you  much  more  than  with 
Laura.  Now  the  'other  man'  is,  I  suppose, 

315 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


all  that  is  grave  and  reverend  —  a  complete 
contrast  to  the  too  trivial  Thomas  ? " 

"Yes,  and  he  's  as  good  as  good  can  be; 
trustworthy,  talented,  honorable,  every- 
thing; you  know  the  kind?  I  never  get  on 
with  them." 

"Does  he  love  you? " 

"Laura  thinks  he  does,  but  I've  no  reason 
to  suppose  so.  We've  always  been  friends, 
while  Tom  Beckett  and  I  squabble  and  make 
up  twice  a  week;  but  anyway,  even  if  he 
does  n't  adore  me  in  Tom's  silly  way,  Laura 
says  I  ought  not  to  mind.  She  says  it  would 
be  noble  of  me  to  help  him  to  a  splendid  and 
prosperous  career,  and  thinks  I  ought  to  re- 
member how  much  my  father  wanted  him 
for  a  son-in-law — you  see  he  is  awfully  poor." 

At  this  coupling  of  fathers  and  poverty  a 
sudden  light  blazed  in  upon  my  conscious- 
ness and  I  sat  bolt  upright  among  the  sofa- 
pillows.  How  could  I  have  guessed  that  the 
love-affairs  of  this  rosy-cheeked  dumpling, 
the  casual  acquaintance  of  a  rest-cure,  could 
have  any  connection  with  my  own?  If  she 

316 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

had  n't  been  the  sort  of  person  who  confides 
at  first  sight  we  should  have  learned  each 
other's  names  at  the  beginning  and  been  on 
guard.  The  truth  is,  I  had  thought  of  no  one 
but  Tom  Beckett  in  her  confessions;  the  per- 
sonality of  "the  other  man"  had  stolen  into 
the  chronicle  so  late  in  the  day  that  I  had 
taken  no  interest  in  him. 

"Are  you  Amy  Darling?"  I  asked  her 
plump. 

"Yes,  but  how  mean  of  you  to  pump  Blos- 
som! I  wanted  to  go  on  thinking  of  you  as 
Zuleika  and  have  you  call  me  something 
imaginary  and  romantic." 

"I  am  Philippa  Armstrong.  Did  you  ever 
hear  the  name?" 

"No,  but  it 's  all  right;  it  looks  like  you, 
and  it 's  nearly  as  pretty  as  Zenobia.  Now  if 
Tom  Beckett  had  only  chosen  you  and  I 
could  have  obliged  Laura  by  falling  in  love 
with—" 

"Don't  mention  the  other  man's  name!" 
I  cried  hastily;  "it  just  comes  to  me  that  I 
may  have  met  him." 

317 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


"Met  Dick  Morton?" 

It  was  true  then!  Here  was  the  girl  whom 
Richard  ought,  for  his  worldly  good,  to 
marry,  and  she  was  not  a  woman  at  all,  only 
an  Angora  kitten,  and  moreover  a  kitten  in 
love  with  Tom  Beckett! 

"Yes,  I  have  met  him,  but  I  only  this  mo- 
ment suspected  it!" 

"Have  you  known  him  long?" 

"Less  than  a  year." 

"That  settles  it! "  she  cried,  leaping  to  her 
feet  excitedly.  "If  Dick  Morton  has  known 
you  for  a  year  he  won't  want  me  and  I  can 
marry  Tom!  Goody,  goody,  goody!" 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  I  said  quickly. 
"Richard  Morton  is  only  a  very  dear 
friend." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense  yourself!  No  man 
with  an  eye  in  his  head  could  be  a  dear  friend 
to  you!  And  Dick  Morton  is  the  hero 
sort  who  does  n't  care  for  Dottie  Dimples, 
but  worships  Vashtis  and  Zuleika-Zenobias. 
Have  you  any  money?" 

"Not  a  penny!" 

318 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

"Oh,  dear!  I  might  have  known  you 
would  n't  have,  with  that  hair  and  those  eyes. 
Never  mind!  I'm  certain  that  Dick  would 
rather  have  a  pauper  goddess  than  a  rich 
little  earthworm." 

"You  mustn't  talk  any  more  about  the 
matter,"  I  said  with  as  much  dignity  as  I 
could  muster  in  the  midst  of  her  laughter- 
provoking  nonsense,  which  made  the  most 
sacred  subjects  seem  a  natural  matter  of 
discussion.  "I  know  through  Mrs.  Taunton 
all  about  the  circumstances  —  your  father's 
wishes  and  his  letter  to  Richard.  If  you  can 
possibly  love  him  you  must  accept  him,  ad- 
vance his  fortunes,  and  do  your  duty  by 
your  father.  I  am  determined  to  be  as  noble 
as  Laura  Simonds  in  this  matter  and  I  refuse 
to  be  a  stumbling-block!" 

The  girl  fell  limply  into  the  lounging-chair. 

"Oh,"  she  said  despondently,  "if  you  are 
going  to  be  noble,  too,  there's  no  use  dis- 
cussing the  matter.  What  an  example  we 
shall  be  for  the  heathen  nations !  You  will 
be  noble  and  give  up  Dick  Morton;  I  shall 

319 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


be  noble  and  marry  him;  and  be  noble  at 
the  same  time  in  giving  up  Tom;  Tom  will  be 
noble  in  suffering  me  to  marry  anybody  but 
himself;  Dick  will  be  noble  in  obliging  my 
father  and  marrying  me  instead  of  you ;  Laura 
is  always  noble!  We  could  use  up  a  whole 
order  of  nobility  among  us !  And  it  is  all  so 
silly!  Do  you  suppose  my  dear  father  would 
want  four  of  us  to  be  unhappy,  his  own 
daughter  among  them  ?  It 's  really  only  Laura 
who  matters,  and  if  you  had  any  ingenuity 
you  could  pacify  her  and  persuade  her  that 
it  is  my  duty  for  once  to  follow  my  ignoble 
inclinations.  I  am  afraid  of  her,  but  you 
need  n't  be !  You  could  blaze  and  flash  and 
tower,  if  you  only  would,  and  save  us  all!" 

"You  seem  to  forget,"  I  urged,  "that  Mr. 
Morton  has  never  asked  me  to  marry  him." 

"That's  nothing;  he  has  probably  been 
thinking  how  he  could  get  me  nicely  disposed 
of,  or  how  he  could  earn  a  roof  under  which 
he  could  ask  you  to  step  in  wet  weather.  He 's 
been  too  stupid  and  moody  and  dull  this  last 
winter  for  any  use,  and  now  I  understand 

320 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

him.  Has  he  ever  seen  you  like  this  with  your 
Rebecca-at-the-well  hair  down?" 

"Certainly  not!" 

"I  thought  so;  or  he  'd  have  forgotten  the 
necessary  roof!  —  Come  in!  —  Goodness! 
it's  your  room  and  I  locked  the  door!  Do  ex- 
cuse me;  I  '11  open  it.  A  telegram  for  you.  — 
Wait  outside  for  an  answer,  Jimmy." 

I  tore  open  the  envelope,  confidently  ex- 
pecting that  Cousin  Sarah  had  been  struck 
with  paralysis;  instead  of  which  I  read: 

Archville,  Pennsylvania, 

June  1  6 

Have  this  moment  secured  a  large  and  impor- 
tant contract  assuring  two  years'  lucrative  work. 
May  I  come  to  see  you  immediately?  Name  ear- 


R.M. 

I  handed  the  message  to  the  Kitten,  who 
read  it  and  exclaimed:  "I  knew  he  was  only 
waiting  for  the  roof!  You  see  he  doesn't 
worry  about  my  prospects  —  selfish  pig! 
Answer  it  and  say  Thursday  —  you  can  get 
well  by  Thursday,  can't  you?  —  for  I  want 

321 


LADIES-IN-WAITING 


to  send  for  Tom  on  the  same  day.  There 's  a 
polo  game  at  home  on  Saturday,  and  Tom 
has  a  new  motor  car.  Tell  Dick  the  best 
hotel  in  the  town  is  the  Brooks  House.  I 
must  wire  to  Laura,  too.  I  shall  say,  let  me 
see:  I  shall  say:  'You  shouldn't  have  left  me. 
I  couldn't  be  noble  alone  J  That's  just  ten 
words.  She  '11  understand  fast  enough,  and  it 
will  pave  the  way  for  you  when  you  explain 
the  situation  to  her.  We  '11  leave  the  sanita- 
rium Friday  and  get  your  Cousin  Sarah  to 
chaperon  us  on  the  journey  home.  Here, 
I've  written  my  messages,  now  do  yours  — 
hurry!  There!  —  Jimmy,  you're  too  old  to 
play  with  matches,  are  n't  you  ? " 

"Yes,  marm." 

"Very  well,  then,  you  can  be  trusted  with 
these  two  telegrams.  Don't  hold  them  near 
the  fire;  there 's  a  match  in  each  of  them." 

SECOND  WEEK 

As  a  patient  Dr.  Levi  says  I  am  almost 
as  great  a  credit  to  the  institution  as  Mrs. 
Chittenden-Ffollette  herself. 

322 


HER  NERVOUS  PROSTRATION 

Monday.  —  I  slept  all  day,  waking  only 
for  meals. 

Tuesday.  —  The  handcuffs  slipped  off  my 
wrists  and  the  balls  and  chains  off  my  ankles. 

Wednesday.  —  My  headache,  sideache, 
backache,  and  shoulderache  disappeared. 
Breakfasted  with  the  doctor  on  coffee,  hot 
biscuits,  beefsteak,  and  griddle  cakes  with 
sausage. 

Thursday.  —  Richard  Morton  came. 

Friday.  —  Dismissed  as  completely  cured. 

"The  dimensions  of  this  mercy  are  above 
my  thoughts,"  as  Cromwell  wrote  after  the 
Worcester  fight. 


THE  END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   .  S   .  A 


